Incredible
by Lacking Stealth
Summary: Rated T: She stopped hearing voices. He stopped mimicking. Her voice lost meaning. He forgot to listen. Her Voice left her for dead. His voice was lost to the wind. But they slipped up, and the walls are crumbling. How much longer can they stand?
1. Introduction

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**Introduction**

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**If you're a new reader, or just haven't been around to my little corner of cyberspace in a while, I suggest skimming this. You don't actually have to read it, but the summaries at the bottom might be of interest. Thank you so much!**

**Your faithful author,**

**Lea**

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First off, just by clicking onto this link you have committed yourself to the **Incognito Cookie Collection Club** (The I-Triple C). This is an unofficial club, of which I am the official sponsor. By joining the club, you've become apart of the story, too. You heard me right. You, sitting there and reading these words on your computer/iPod/cell phone screen (Gotta love technology, no?) are as important to this story as its characters are. It's you, my readers, who make the characters come alive. I cannot thank you enough for that.

This story has certainly changed a lot since it first began in August of 2010. Back then (two months ago for me, as I'm typing this up now near the end of October), I had no idea where this was going. I only knew where I wanted to start. The situations these characters would be put into, the adversaries they would face, the drama they'd have to endure; none of it came to me until much, much later. My eternal gratitude goes to **UnbrokenSilences**, my beta, who is ten times more vital to this story than I could ever put into words. I'd also like to thank **stripedpolkadots** and her fic _**Strangers**_ as well as **Vamps-With-Wings** and her fic _**Memoirs of the Lost and Forgotten**_ for giving me inspiration. I apologize if, in the beginning, there are any similarities. These are wholly unintentional, I assure you.

During the two months that it took me to write this story, I had an ongoing cookie contest. I handed out cookies to each and every person (both FanFiction members and anonymous reviewers) who reviewed, alerted, or favorited this story or myself. Sadly, the cookie contest is over as of October 30th, 2010. (Just wait! There is an on-going **Muffin Match** for the sequel, Indescribable. You can still be in the running! All you have to do is review this story once to be in the running.) To see the **Cookie Contest** results, simply go to the chapter titled **Cookie Contest Results**.

**Blanket Disclaimer:**** Everything and anything you recognize or **_**think**_** you recognize is not mine. I own no Maximum Ride characters, settings, or any part of the plot. All rights go to James Patterson.**

**Also:**** This story is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, and locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used to advance this fictional narrative. All incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be constructed as real.**

**Claimer:**** While I don't own any cannon characters, I claim my right to each and every original character, from the lowly stock character to the very important protagonists. In addition, the plot is one-hundred percent mine. This story may start out like a cliché, but it's changed so much since I began it in August. My sincerest hope is that this story will be nothing you expect.**

**A Note: **You're meant to be confused. You're meant to think and ask me questions. You're not meant to know all the pieces. But you are meant to enjoy this story. The only reason I've kept up with it for so long is because of all the wonderful feedback I've been getting from readers just like you. If you ever have a question or ever need something explained, _please_ send me a PM. I will reply to the best of my ability without ruining your reading experience by giving away too much.

**A Warning:** Be prepared for some swears. They will be there, and some of them will be shouted. I can't very well censor without ruining their effects, because most of the curses are interwoven with thoughts and speech. So, there they will stay. You've been forewarned.

**Incredible** (formerly _Incredibly Indescribable_) is now the first part of the **Incomparable Trilogy**. Below are the full summaries:

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Summary for:

**Incomparable:**

**A Ride By Any Other Name**

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Rated T for language, violence, and some mature themes

She could hear the voices. He could mimic them with pitch-perfect accuracy. Her voice would last forever, if anyone would permit it. He needed those words to see the big picture. She had a Voice to guide her through the chaos. His voice was the one she craved the most, the one she needed to survive.

They wanted to create the ultimate warrior, one who followed orders and destroyed with ease. But they couldn't. Everything they made had a surprising, life-saving quality: a _soul_. A soul with a passion and a drive and will to survive, to live, to _win_. A soul that would not hold back to protect those it loved. A soul that would be the final straw in bringing their entire organization crashing down on its knees.

When your life is thrust into the fast lane and your family is torn off its hinges, will you be ready? Can you handle the ride?

Are you ready for the Incredible, Indescribable, Indestructible, Maximum Ride?

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Summary for:

**Incredible:**

**The first Installment of the Incomparable Trilogy**

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Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

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**Now, I can't possibly delay you any more. Without further ado, I present to you my pride and joy, **_**Incredible**_**.**

**Many thanks and happy reading!**

**Your faithful author,**

**Lea**


	2. 0: New And Improved Erasers

**This takes place after FANG. If you've been following the Incredible adventures of Maximum Ride, as told by me, then you might have already reviewed to some of these chapters. But guess what? You can still review to any changes I've made anonymously. (Use your fanfiction username if you have it, please!)**

**The theme song for this chapter is "Headstrong" by Trapt.**

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**Incredible**

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Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

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**Chapter Zero: New-and-Improved Erasers**

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**Saturday, October 18****th****, 2008**

Her lungs were burning, the sharp stabs of pain shooting up her arms, legs, hitting home in her heart. She _couldn't_ stand much more of this.

Suddenly, the pain was gone. They were done trying to fry her brain like an egg. But no one came in to remove the electrodes from her skin.

_Max!_

Angel's scared voice immediately plunged into the elder girl's mind.

_I'm okay, sweetie._

_You're such a bad liar, you know. I _felt_ that._

_Whatever they do to me, stay strong, okay?_

_Max… _Max_!_ Her warning tone changed to terrified with the flip of a switch.

_Angel!_

_They're going to wipe our minds._

_What?_

_Someone won't let them terminate us. So they're wiping our minds. We're… we're getting split up._

_NO!_

Max struggled against the restraints holding her to the table. They couldn't take her flock! They _wouldn't_ take her flock! She was going to tear them all apart before that happened!

_Angel, where is everyone?_

_Gazzy is on the fifth floor, Iggy the third. I'm on the second. You're on the fourth. Nudge is… Max, I can't hear Nudge! She just dropped out! Max, what did they _do?

The girl's struggling increased. _Not my flock! _Then a horrible thought struck her motionless. _Ange, where are they sending us?_

_I… one sec._ Her presence dropped out for an endless, agonizing moment. When it came back, it was with a frantic intensity. _Iggy is going to Texas. They think near Dallas. They're sending Nudge to Chicago. You… I can't hear anyone close to you. They don't know yet. They're not sure where Gazzy and I are going. They think we'll be moving a lot. But all around New England. Max—_

The door to her room opened, drawing the flock leader back to her surroundings. Max was facing away from the door, so she had no idea which despicable whitecoat was there until he spoke. And even then he stayed out of her field of vision.

"Calm down, Maximum."

"_JEB!_" she shrieked, fury fueling the murderous inferno inside her. "_Get out of here! What are they doing to my flock?_"

"We're giving you another chance at a normal life." He was patient, his face no doubt impassive.

That only enraged her more.

"What about Fang?" she spat. His name hurt her heart so much she was surprised no blood had been drawn. It had only been a few months… that _bastard_ had left only three months ago. His glaring absence was the reason they were unprepared for the sudden M-Geek ambush. His leaving was why they were captured, bound, and gagged and taken back to their place of birth, the hell-hole that was the School. _He_ was why _the goddamn whitecoats were splitting them up!_ "And Dylan?"

"It's not my area."

"_What do you mean it's not your friggin' area? Where are they, GODDAMNIT!_" Max bellowed, blind rage coursing through her, adrenaline feeding her like gas on flames. A sudden, terrible realization made her blood run cold. "_WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY MOTHER YOU BASTARD!_"

_Max!_

_WHAT?_ Even her thoughts were wild and frenzied. _Angel, what's happening!_

_Max, Iggy is screaming! He— Gazzy is gone!_

"_JEB!_"

"This is for your own good, Maximum."

"What about saving the world, huh?" she yelled, her voice cracking as tears ripped down her face. "What about Ari? Remember him? Your _son?_"

She had hit a nerve. "Max, that is uncalled for—"

"_SO IS RIPPING US APART!_"

_Max, they're here for me. Max!_

Suddenly, all of her fury was gone. They wouldn't get her that easy.

_Don't worry, Angel_, she thought fiercely. She was not going to be weak now. _We _will_ survive this. I will find all of you, I promise, and when I do—_

_MAX!_ Angel's shrieks of agony blasted her eardrums.

"_ANGEL!_"

With a barbaric roar, she pulled against her restraints… _and the metal gave_. They were still holding her back, but she only pulled harder, harder, _harder!_

Then the room was filled with whitecoats. A needle was thrust into her arm. Her frantic movements slowed… she couldn't move her arms…

_Oh, God, when I do…_

"Good-bye, Maximum Ride," Jeb said gently, almost sadly, from somewhere near her ear.

…_when I do, those monsters will have _HELL _to pay._

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I really cannot apologize enough. I didn't mean to be gone for so long. I've been editing like crazy for a couple weeks, but my beta has been busy as of late and she's only been able to beta a few of my re-done chapters. But I'll get them all posted, whether or not she's looked at them. (This is including the brand-new chapter, also. I'm really nervous for those three chapters.

But… _I am back, baby!_

Your faithful author,

Lea


	3. 1: Extreme Sports

**Quick Reference: Izzy is nine years old. Her brother, Mike **_**just**_** turned twelve.**

**The theme song for this chapter is "Black Balloon" by The Goo Goo Dolls.**

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**Incredible**

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Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

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**Chapter One: Extreme Sports**

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**Wednesday, November 10****th****, 2010**

"How are you feeling today, Isadora?"

Izzy shrugged her shoulders, jostling her blonde curls. "Tired. Mom says we're moving next week."

The psychiatrist jotted a note down on her clipboard. This woman was just another in a long, long line of professionals Mrs. Conroy had called in to treat her schizophrenic daughter. "And where are you headed?"

"Dallas. Mom got promoted, so they're shipping her off across the country."

Pen met paper, scratching as the doctor made _more_ notes. "How are you taking this?"

Izzy shrugged. "How am I supposed to take it? I'm a freak. Everyone here knows it. Maybe it won't be like that in Dallas."

The doctor's eyes softened, causing Izzy to roll her own. She didn't need more pity. Everyone pitied her. Her back was a mess, and she heard voices when she didn't take her medicine. Strange voices, too. They almost sounded like… thoughts.

"Aren't you supposed to ask me how my medication is working?" Izzy's tart words cut through the doctor's pity. She was nearly ten, but she often acted much older.

The woman smiled, unfazed. "How is your medication working?"

"The only voice I hear is my own."

While the doctor kept asking questions and she answered them mechanically, Izzy couldn't help but think. She almost missed the voices. Somewhere in the back of her mind, they were comforting. She never told anyone, not her mother, not her brother, not the numerous doctors. Yet, there was one voice she remembered clearly, one that stood out above the rest in her muddled, mixed-up mind. It came with no memory attached, no video or audio to connect it to the real world. Merely the determined, angry, comforting, loving voice of a young woman.

_Don't worry, angel._ If headless voices could cry, this one was trying her hardest not to fall to pieces. _We _will_ survive this. I'll find you all, I promise…_

Izzy felt herself smile as she left the room after her session.

Because someone, somewhere, thought she was an angel.

And that someone was looking for her.

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Michael barely glanced up as his sister collapsed onto his bed.

"What are you doing, Mike?" Izzy didn't bother to lean over her brother's shoulder. She knew he would shove whatever it was away, hide it until she got bored and left. Mike was like that. So, instead, she climbed onto his bed and tucked her legs beneath her.

But something about her voice—the unexpected, uncalled for notes of happiness—caused the twelve-year-old to look up. "I'm just sketching," he replied. Why did she want to know, anyway? She never paid him any attention. She was too absorbed in her own problems to ever care.

Izzy's blue eyes lit up, and Mike instantly understood. For the first time in a long, long while, her older brother was actually opening up and sharing his feelings. She wouldn't just take this sitting down. "What are you sketching?" she asked, straightening but making no move to lean forward and see for herself. Mike wouldn't respond to force; information had to be eased out of him.

"Just… something," the twelve-year-old bit his lip, rolling across the wood floor on his chair. _Will she really want to see it?_ He handed his sister the schematic.

Izzy eyed the paper for a moment, a tiny frown adorning her face. "Is it like… a firework or something?"

Mike's expression darkened. If only their _mother_ knew he actually built these in his spare time. But, of course, his mother was too busy doting on his little sister to care much about what he did. "Or something," Mike admitted stoically.

Izzy nodded, looking over the stunningly detailed diagram. She glanced up at her brother and saw the flare of anger in his sky-blue eyes. "Mike, this is cool. Can you actually make something like this?"

The boy contemplated telling the truth. But how could he, when the last time he'd actually _built_ one it had gone so utterly, horribly wrong? He couldn't face his family for weeks after the incident, when it was all over the paper. _Freak Explosion Kills Local High School Teacher!_ Mike hadn't been caught, thank _God_; but all those kids, his "friends," steered clear from him after that. The sudden move to Russell only a month later was a blessing in disguise.

Mike kept his face decidedly blank, daring Izzy to contradict him as he said, "No. It's just sketches. Some of my friends joke that they could make a working explosive. If they wanted to. So I just wanted to prove to them how complicated it is."

Izzy nodded calmly, knowing better than to question her brother. She also knew with complete certainty, however, that he was lying his rear off. She had been _there_ that day. She had seen what happened to that poor, poor man. She'd seen how her brother didn't meet her eyes until after they moved to upstate New York.

Now, they hadn't even been here for two years and they were already moving to Dallas, clean at the other end of the country.

Izzy sighed, hanging the paper back and hopping off the bed. "Okay, well, have fun. Mom is making dinner."

"I'll be down in a minute."

Izzy left her brother then, walking down the hall and tip-toeing down the back stairs to the sunroom. Her mother would be calling soon for dinner, the only meal the family ever ate together, but the daughter needed a few minutes to think. And at the back of her house, in a room of all windows and skylights, she could do just that.

Outside, at the edge of the woods, a small collection of falcons alighted upon the branches of the old pine trees Izzy and Mike used to climb.

If there was one thing Izzy would miss about Russell, it was the birds.

There were six of them. The leader was an adult female, covered in beautiful, white-and-tan-speckled feathers. She squawked, once, twice, three times, earning a chorus of cries from four of the five other, smaller birds. The silent one, a black-blue adult male, remained silent. He seemed to be the second in command. The last adult was also a male, this one's lovely, pale feathers capped off in black, as if they were dipped in tar. The leader chirruped to the two males, and they took off fast, no doubt in search of food or the fixings for a nest. The three younger fledglings cried in farewell, skipping around on the branch. One of the younger ones, a tawny bird with darker accents, continued on squawking and chirping and clacking her beak. She was quieted by the youngest two—a brother- sister duo, it seemed, with startlingly light, cream-colored wings.

Izzy felt herself smile. Six strong, beautiful birds. Six totally unrelated birds, by the looks of it. They were a flock, bound by circumstance, bonded by friendship. They would fight to the death for each other. They were a family. _I miss that…_ she thought absent-mindedly. _I wish _I_ could have that._

Something seemed to be missing from the picture, though. The nine-year-old wondered how the awesome creatures would react to a little black dog entering their ranks.

_What?_ Izzy shook her head. Why a dog, and a little black one at that? But… it seemed to complete the scene.

Six strong, fierce, gentle, loving birds. And a little black dog. A flock fighting for freedom, for justice. A flock fighting to save the world.

Izzy almost smiled to herself. Her brother would jump at the opportunity to poke fun at her now; or, he would at least make a point to call her out. "Save the world?" Mike would mock tiredly. "Six _people_ can't save the world, let alone six birds. What, do you expect some kids to suddenly grow _wings_ and fight to take down every bad guy on Earth? I don't _think_ so."

Of course Mike would say that. He just thought that way. Somewhere along the line, he'd become distant, grown angry, lost hope. He wouldn't understand why this was suddenly so important, this feathered, seven-part question. He'd turn it around, look at it backwards, and try to twist it around so the original meaning was lost. He'd blow everything out of the water, but…

Maybe, just maybe, he'd have a point.

_How _can_ six bird-kids save the world?_

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This chapter contains one of my favorite scenes in this story, the one with those birds. I don't know if everyone will catch all the symbolism I injected into that one paragraph, but there sure is a heck of a lot there. I really do like how this chapter has cleaned up. Hopefully you get some characterization on both Izzy and Mike? Yes? That's what I wanted. I hope I've done well enough. *bites nails nervously*

Anyway, I'm starting in on Indescribable, with the pre-writing and such. I've got about half of the outline planned so far, if anyone's wondering. :) My goal for you is still to get the first chapter up by December 24th.

Your faithful author,

Lea


	4. 2: And We Have a Winner!

**Quick Reference: Aiden is seventeen years old, and he's a senior in high school.**

**The theme song for this chapter is "Animal" by Neon Trees.**

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**Incredible**

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Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

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**Chapter Two: And We Have a Winner!**

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**Thursday, November 11****th****, 2010**

_Ow!_

Aiden hissed and rubbed at his legs as he sank (success!) into the sofa. Why did they _insist_ on moving furniture on him? Why always, _always_ the coffee table? Did they _want_ him to get new shins?

"LEAVE ME ALONE!"

"GET OFF ME!"

And why did they insist on being so freaking _loud_?

Thundering footsteps echoed down stairs, through the hallway. Too many to count. How many kids? Nine, ten, eleven? Aiden wracked his brain. There were the younger kids, Jill and Ben and Haley and Dave and Will. Then there were the older kids, Peggy and Frank and Sarah and Zack and Nellie. And him. That made eleven. But how many were running into the dining room?

Too many voices echoed off the walls. Too many words, all jumbled together like spaghetti. They could have been speaking another language, for all Aiden could understand.

A soft hand landed on his shoulder, and he _did_ jump to his feet, hitting his shins _again_.

There was a tiny laugh as Aiden muttered a few choice curses. Then the scrape as the coffee table was scooted back. The kids still supplied the roar in the background.

"It's dinner time, Aiden."

That was Sarah. She was fourteen… fifteen? No. She was sixteen-going-on-seventeen, about a year younger than him. But she was nice enough. She might have been the only one who knew that Aiden would be gone as soon as he graduated, while she planned to stay and help. She was the only one who realized that Aiden's senior year would be the last one with the Wallace's.

Everyone else just took Aiden for granted.

He stumbled into the dining room, his shins still sore. Muscle memory took him to his spot, the chair near the window.

"Okay, guys, who wants to say Grace tonight?" Mrs. Wallace's voice was kind, laughing, from the other end of the table. She and her husband fostered kids. Lots of kids. They had a big house just outside of Dallas, and they had been fostering since Mrs. Wallace discovered that she couldn't have kids. Not that the younger ones knew this. But the couple was the sweetest, most caring pair Aiden had ever meant. They were born to be parents.

"Ooh! Ooh! Can I do it?" Jill's tiny voice erupted from Aiden's right, and he had a good mind to know that she was bouncing in her seat.

"Of course, Jilly," her foster mother acquiesced.

Everyone bowed their heads and clasped their hands on the table. "Dear Lord," Jill began, exaggerating her southern accent to match the way the church pastor begins the congregational prayer every Sunday, "We thank you for this yummy dinner, and that it's still warm outside, and that we're all happy today. Ah-men."

The room was unusually quiet for a moment, as each person sent up his or her own little dinner prayers.

"I want some mashed potatoes!" Will exclaimed to break the post-grace silence, leaping across the table by the sound of the dishes clattering and the moans of children surrounding his voice.

"We have to make sure Aiden gets fed."

That was Mr. Wallace, his deep voice resounding firmly from his chest.

Scrapes, a succession of thunks, and one plop later, Aiden was digging into his meatloaf and mashed potatoes like a starving child.

"Guess what?" Dave exclaimed. He was maybe eleven.

"What?" was the cry that bounced around the room.

"The Cowboys are playing the Bears in two weeks for the Thanksgiving Classic!" he informed everyone.

Aiden frowned. Is this what déjà vu felt like? The sudden _click_ of information that meant you'd seen (or, in Aiden's case, heard) something before? Did it always come with the dropping of your stomach to your toes?

"Are we going?"

The room suddenly hushed. You could have heard a pin drop. Aiden thought he did.

"Do you want to go?" Mrs. Wallace again. Her motherly voice was confused.

A murmur spread through the room. _Why does Aiden want to go to a football game? He can't see._ Everyone was thinking this, though none had the gall to say it out loud. They liked Aiden too much. He was nice, if a bit quiet and reluctant. But if you caught him on a good day, where he hadn't run into anything and his medicine was working well and his back wasn't hurting, then maybe he'd joke around with you. And on a _really_ good day, he'd make a small firework in the backyard while Mr. and Mrs. Wallace were out shopping, and he'd let you set if off. But that happened only rarely.

"Well." Aiden shook his head. What was he thinking? It was a _football_ game. He didn't even _like_ football. "I mean, it's in two weeks. Everyone who could get tickets did so months in advance. There's no way we'd be able to go anyway. Besides, what would I do at a football game?"

"We can tape it," Frank supplied; he was Sarah's younger brother. Aiden thought he was fourteen.

While the sentiment was kind, Aiden felt something within him sink a little at those words. They were all so quick to make do for him, to slack off and cast him aside like old news. No matter how much he would hate it, watching the game on television wouldn't come _anywhere_ close to the real thing, no matter how loud and unfamiliar and terrifying it would be.

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Aiden lay still on his bed, his mp3 player blasting his eardrums. His back had been acting up again, sending out shooting stabs of pain, and now he didn't feel like doing much more than lying still and listening to music.

There was a knock on his bedroom door and the young man sat up, pausing his mp3 player. "Yeah?" he yawned, yanking the ear buds from his ears.

Two sets of footsteps came in slowly. The first were light and excited, the second heavier, but also excited.

"Aiden, when I tell you to, say your name into the phone, okay?"

Sarah's voice was quivering with pent-up anticipation.

"All right…"

She pressed the phone onto his ear. "Say your name!"

"Aiden Thompson."

A heavy, happy voice crackled from the other end of the phone. "Congratulations, Aiden, you have won four tickets to the upcoming Dallas-Chicago game at the Cowboys Stadium!"

"But..."

"Don't worry," Frank assured. "Mr. Wallace put the tickets under his name. The radio people are really nice!"

Aiden was reeling. He was actually going to Dallas. He'd actually be out of the noise machine that was the Wallace household.

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Mr. Wallace got the tickets the next day. Aiden had one in his hand by dinner. Smooth paper, clean lamination. If he concentrated, he knew it was blue. A football ticket. He couldn't help but grin.

It had been decided that Mr. Wallace would take the three eldest boys along with; Aiden, Zack, and Frank. Mrs. Wallace would stay home with Sarah and Nellie and Peggy and try to calm down the younger set.

Aiden caught up to Sarah that night between homework-check and tuck-in n' lights-out.

"Sarah?"

"Hmm?" She was reading, by the rustle of her fingers on paper and the slightly impatient tap of her foot.

"Thanks."

He could practically feel her grin. "Aiden. It's a football game. We're in Texas. Football is _life_. Next Thursday you will _live_." Her voice was light from suppressed laughter. But there was something in the undercurrent, too. Something deeper.

"Why? I mean… yeah, why?" Aiden shook his head. He liked Sarah. She was like a sister. But… something about all of it felt like… a present. And Aiden definitely didn't do anything to deserve a present.

Sarah's voice was soft now, almost sad. "We both know you'll be gone as soon as they hand you your diploma in June. So you might as well have one last hurrah with the boys. Give them something to remember you by." _Give yourself something to remember the boys by,_ was her unspoken comment.

Aiden smiled. "Thanks, Sarah."

She shrugged, her hair rustling against her top, but her voice was warm. "Just have fun in Dallas, Aiden."

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I really like writing as Aiden. He'd got a fun perspective, because he's reliant on sounds, not sight. This gives me a lot of liberty with his foster family. They can look pretty much anyway _you_ want them to, which probably means that I'll be lazy and never give you concrete descriptions for these _ten_ kids, but at least you'll have some imaginative freedom! Yay!

That was a pretty awful A/N, but I just _really_ want to get these chapters out to you, ASAP.

Your faithful author,

Lea


	5. 3: Road Trip

**Quick Reference: Clara is fourteen years old.**

**The theme song for this chapter is "Weightless" by All Time Low.**

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**Incredible**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Chapter Three: Road Trip**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Friday, November 12****th****, 2010**

Clara bit her tongue. If she was smart, she'd back down now. But her stupid pride just wouldn't let her.

"Hand it over," she demanded, her voice deadly and low. She didn't know she could sound like that, at almost fifteen. She could frighten her father with that voice. She could frighten _anyone_ with that voice. _Woah._

"What are you going to do about it?" the boy sneered, holding her purse high above his head.

Clara almost snorted. She was three inches taller than him. With mocha-colored skin, fierce brown eyes, and a mess of wild, black hair, she could strike an intimidating figure when the moment arose. Now was one of those times. She was readying herself to pounce, like a jungle cat, or a hawk.

Yes. That's what Clara was. A strong, angry hawk. _Who wanted her purse back._

"Just can't resist getting your meaty hands on a pretty girl's purse, can you, Andre?" she taunted, bouncing back on the balls of her feet, changing tactics and feeling dangerous.

"What's in here, anyway, freakazoid?" Andre countered, pulling the purse down to peer inside.

Clara made her move.

She lunged forward, taking Andre out at the waist. A fist to his throat, a knee to his chest, and he was wheezing on the ground. _There_, she thought, _painless._ Clara shot him a smirk. "Next time, mess with someone your own speed." She tossed her purse over her shoulder, flicked her wrist, and trotted around the street corner.

As soon as she was out of sight, she frantically pawed through her bag. _Please, oh please let my meds still be there… Yes!_ Clara's hand landed on the prescription bottle of medicine. _Thank goodness_. She could never admit how furiously relieved she actually was. How her meds were her life line, her only handle on reality. And, _no_, she wasn't a druggie. They were her _prescription_ meds, for Pete's sake! But to admit all that would show weakness.

Her father was busy today, so she had to make the run for her refill of medication herself. Then Andre—the idiot, wannabe gangster—crossed her path in attempts to get high on whatever drugs she was carrying. But now everything was back to normal. Or, as normal as things ever got for Clara.

The sudden blast of music brought her from her reverie, and the teen dug through her purse and extracted her phone.

"Y'ello?"

"Hey, babe!"

Clara beamed, hopping on her toes in her excitement.

"Hi, Danika! You'll never guess what happened! My meds came in this afteroon, so I got them after school. I didn't really mind that my dad couldn't, y'know, because it's _my_ meds, but as I was walking home you'll never believe who tried to jump me! It was Andre! He thinks I'm hooked on something, and my dad is feeding my prescription drug habit, but he's a total moron. I mean, like no one has _not_ seen my uglified back after Zoe's pool party last summer. So here I was, minding my own business, when Andre comes up and just whips my purse off of my shoulder! Then I get all pissed at him, y'know, because he's a total dipwad and I _need_ my meds. So I totally kick his butt and here I am—"

"CLARA!" Danika roared into the phone. "Chill, girly, seriously. Okay, Andre _is_ a total dipwad. And we both know you can kick his ass any day of the week, with both hands tied behind your back. But you have to get here a-sap! I have the _biggest_ news ever, and you really need to know first."

"All right, all right," Clara consented, laughing. "I just need to run home really quick, okay? Then I'll be there, like, instantly."

"You better!"

"Buh-_bye_, Danika!"

"Ciao, Clarita!"

Clara laughed as she raced home as fast as her legs would carry her. Thank goodness for Danika. With her best friend, Clara felt almost… normal.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

"Okay, I'm here! What's the big news?" Clara bounced on her bestie's bed impatiently, tapping her long fingers.

"Right," Danika began, twirling a stray strand of hair in her nervousness. "So you know how my big sister goes to UTD—"

"The University of Texas in Dallas?"

"_Yeah_. Anyway, she just landed like, the _biggest_ job ever for this bioengineering company—'cause, you know, my sister is a kick-ass whiz with that stuff—and because she's just too wonderful and amazing, they gave her four box seats at the Cowboys-Bears game next Thursday. They said it'll be a good match, seeing as my sister is a die-hard Bears fan—even though she really isn't. But we Chicagoans support out teams—"

"I still can't see why you like the _Cubs_—"

"Look, once a Cubs fan, always a Cubs fan! Anyway, we have an extra ticket. So… do you wanna come?"

Clara shrieked, jumping up and engulfing her best friend in a wiry-armed hug. "Of course I want to come! Danika, you are like the _best_ best friend in the history of best friends!"

The teen blushed, swatting her friend's hands away. "But we're gonna stay the week, y'know, 'cause we have school off and everything. My big sis is totally gonna take us shopping and we'll get kick-ass makeovers! You just _have_ to come!" She was squeezing Clara's hands tight now.

"Okay, okay!" the taller girl laughed. "I'll beg my dad to let me go, okay? And if I don't I'll break out of the house-arrest. But you can believe that I am going with you!"

"We are going to be the _life_ of the Texas party!"

"Hollah!"

The girls slapped ecstatic high-fives.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

"So… can I go?"

Clara was sitting at the dinner table with her father. She knew how her old man operated; she could write a manual on how the guy ticked. What he responded to was calm words and patience. Two things she was _definitely_ not good at. But she managed. For her dad. For Dallas. For freedom.

Mr. Bennet eyed his daughter. She'd gone on road trips with Danika's family, the Hyatt's, for years. They'd gone to the Dells and Indianapolis more timed than he could count. But never to a place as far away as Texas.

"It's half the country, sweetie," the man said gently. "It's too far."

"Too far for box seats? Dad. _Nothing_ is too far for box seats." Clara tried to keep the tremble out of her voice. She just had to go. It would be the first time in her whole life she wasn't some black girl with an uglified back from the south side of Chicago. She could be Clara, fashonista and kick-butt fighter; a girl who loved cars and computers, and owned a small country's worth of lip gloss. She could be herself, without worrying about what others thought. She could be _free_. Free of the hateful, prejudice glances. Free of the whispers, of the jokes, of the mean laughter. Free of the _cage_ that was her life here. She _had_ to go.

Mr. Bennet saw the silent pleading in his daughter's stare. She was pulling the 'Bambi eyes', something she hadn't done in years. This trip had suddenly become as vital to her survival, to her sanity, as her meds.

"All right," Mr. Bennet consented, standing up pushing in his chair.

"!" Clara blabbered, nearly tackling her father in a tight-armed embrace, with one thought was swirling around and around in her head:

_Dallas—and freedom—here I come!_

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**A/N: **This is the first official chapter in which I ask for random facts (about you, about the world, anything). So, here it is: every chapter, every review, up ten facts for each one. No more, no less. (Originally, there was no limit, but I'm cutting it off now.) While they won't be counting for cookies (the complete list is at the end of the story), it's still fun, and it cuts of the monotony of my life.

So, onto the chapter. Jeez, writing for Clara is fun. She's very... different, but in a good way. It's as if I'm really getting inside her head, and it's _okay_ to write the way a teenage girl would speak. (That's such a relief.) *sigh* It's so good to be back in the game, I feel awesome. :D

Your faithful author,

Lea


	6. 4: Payback

**Quick Reference: Owen is seventeen years old (he's a senior, too).**

**The theme song for this chapter is "Runaway" by Linkin Park.**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Incredible**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Chapter Four: Payback**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Saturday, November 13****th****, 2010**

"No."

"Owen…" There was an edge in his mother's voice.

"_No._"

"Owen, you don't really have a choice. I'm sorry. We agreed it's for the best."

"For _whom_? Me?"

"_Yes_, Owen. He's your _father_."

"He hasn't acted much like it," Owen muttered, unable to stop himself. As far as he was concerned, he didn't have a father. When was the last time he even saw the man after his parents divorce so long ago? He could hardly remember.

"Owen. Everything is all set. You are spending Thanksgiving with your father. Your plane leaves Friday night."

"No," the young man repeated, tiredly as opposed to stubbornly.

"_Excuse_ me?"

"I am not getting in a flying sardine can of _death_. I'll drive." He knew, by now, that he had no choice. But he would not be caught _dead_ in that cramped, terrifying little airplane, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with a hundred people he didn't know, who could possibly ask _questions_.

"To Dallas?" He could almost feel the exasperation in his mother's voice. "That's eighteen-hundred _miles_."

"I'll leave early, then," he reasoned.

"Owen…"

"Mom." He paused, waiting for her irritated retort. When nothing came, he clarified, "Mom, either let me drive, or I won't go to Dad's."

Ms. Dinardo heaved a sigh. "I hate you and your ultimatums," she muttered, nearly sounding serious. There was a pause as she mulled it over. "Fine," she said eventually. "But you will have your cell phone on you _at all times_. I'll see you off Saturday morning, and I better get a phone call every _two hours_, understand? And when you get there, you will put your father on the phone. I must actually _hear_ his voice, got it?"

"Yes, ma'am." Owen didn't understand why his mother was acting like he actually wanted to go. He still didn't. In fact, he'd rather get his lights kicked out. By a big, hulking wolf-man, or something. But he had no choice.

His mother sighed again, the stress of her job getting to her. He could practically see her run her fingers through her long, dark hair—so much like his. Deflated, she said, "I'll be home in two hours. We'll talk more then."

Then she hung up. Owen listened to the dial tone for a moment before flipping his cell phone closed.

He instantly flung it across the room.

"Thanks a lot, _Dad_," he growled sarcastically, glaring at his bedroom door, as if the man himself would walk right in. "Thanks for leaving us when the going got tough!" His fist landed hard on his desk. The old metal frame groaned in protest.

Owen lunged to his feet, stalking out the room. He had to get out of here. He had to go somewhere where he wouldn't break something. Because if he stayed in his room any longer, things would be thrown. And he just couldn't do that to his mother. She worked too hard to have an unstable son.

Like he had any choice on the matter.

He couldn't help the scoliosis; that was a birth defect. Those bouts of instability weren't explainable, either. Sometimes, Owen just couldn't walk right. He'd feel oddly light, like there was a weight taken off his back. He wouldn't be able to balance for the life of him. And then there were the mood swings. It happened more frequently now, the sudden pangs of thick, heavy regret. Unbearable anguish. Burning pain. Hot loathing. Suffocating grief. They all came in floods.

Then there was the whole incident with the blond girl at the mall.

He'd been rearranging the monthly display behind the back counter at the music store where he worked, when a flash of blonde hair breezed through his peripheral vision. A girl with long locks of dirty-blonde hair was scanning the CD's idly. The sudden burst of emotion was like a machine gun; blind joy, sheer relief, that feeling that he could finally _breathe _again, all in rapid succession. Owen was practically falling over himself as he hurdled over the counter. He grabbed at her shoulders, looking in her wide, frightened eyes. Frightened _hazel_ eyes. Not brown. Hazel. _Hazel!_ He had expected brown, a deep, loving, probably furious chocolate-brown. But they were _hazel_.

Then the girl screamed bloody murder, and Owen spent the rest of his shift at the police station across town, and then for another four hours afterwards. He'd had to wait that long for his mother to get out of work.

That was when Owen began to see the shrink.

_That_ explained it! She didn't really want Owen to get to know his father. She wanted his father to get to know Owen. She wanted the man who left them alone and nearly penniless to see how their son had turned out without a stable male role model. It was like some form of sick, twisted revenge.

And Owen just went along with it.

By this time, he was up in the old oak tree behind his house, maybe twenty, thirty feet off the ground. Any higher and the branches couldn't support his weight, no matter how non-existent it was.

He found it was one of the only places where he could think, where he actually felt _normal_. Up here he could almost breathe fully again. (Though, for the _life_ of him, he couldn't figure out what it would take to get his breath back again.) The air was cool, clear, and clean up here. Much more so than the atmosphere closer to San Francisco. The whole length of the two-hour drive south was filled with mounting anxiety. He hated that city, filled with its judicial, haughty people.

His father lived _in_ a city. He'd be thrust into a whole different world there. Shoulder-to-shoulder and bumper-to-bumper, irritable, angry people who took one look at you and instantly determined your whole life story. Laughing and pointing and screaming; tires screeching and horns blaring. How would he get any sleep?

"Calm down," Owen instructed himself bitterly. He might be going, but no one said he had to enjoy it. For all he knew, his father wasn't even ready for a visitor. But, for the sake of his mother, who only wanted _payback_…

The young man shook his head, instantly. _How could she?_

But… he couldn't lie to his mother, even if he wanted to. And a lot of the time, Owen wanted to. But he couldn't do it. She was a lawyer. She had connections.

So to Dallas it was.

Owen looked up at the big, blue sky, dotted with clouds that could have been scoopfuls of ice cream. _His_ sky. He had been hang gliding once, and he remembered the feeling of the wind, strong and fast and uplifting. There were times when he could almost picture himself soaring through the air, with _her…_ That girl. The blonde-haired, brown-eyed girl. With the laughing eyes and the cocky smirk. Soaring through the air on the most beautiful pair of molten-brown wings he'd ever seen, his own bluish-black wings brushing hers on the down stroke.

He didn't know where the image had come from, probably just a dream. But it _felt_ so, so _real_.

_What would it really be like to fly like a hawk?_ he wondered absentmindedly. Then he could fly to Dallas, actually _fly_. Maybe then it wouldn't be such a terrible trip. Maybe then he wouldn't be such a freak. If he had wings.

With a sarcastic chuckle, he thought, _Yeah, right._

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**A/N: **I absolutely loved this chapter. Going back, I realized I really short-changed Owen. He's such a wonderful character. I just can't get enough of the inner workings of his head. Hopefully I can do him justice, but I won't make him the same guy we all know and love. He (and everyone else, for that matter) is different for a _reason_.

Have any guesses on who's who yet? Do you know who the next chapter will be about? (Hint: there are six people in the flock. I've introduced you to five, if you've been paying attention.)

Hey, what do you think of my names? I've been with them too long to change, but I like them. I've gotten some flack about Owen not really being an Owen, but I'm not about to change it now. So there!

I'm still taking random/bizarre/funny/personal/embarrassing/etc facts! I promise, when I get the sequel up and running, I'll have an engaging, quite _fun_ little contest for ya. (If you're new, don't fret! I'll also be having another cookie contest-style game in which you can win prizes, too!)

*sighs contentedly* Well, I've done what I came hear to do. Now on to the next chapter!

Your faithful author,

Lea


	7. 5: Breaking

**Quick Reference: Riley is seventeen as well, and she (like Owen and Aiden) is a senior.**

**The theme song for this chapter is "Broken" by Seether featuring Amy Lee from Evanescence.**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Incredible**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Chapter Five: Breaking**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Monday, November 15****th****, 2010**

"Riley, are you all right?"

_Stupid question._

It was obvious, wasn't it? Her tight, crossed arms, her stiff walk, the limp hair hanging in her face. Couldn't her mother tell how totally _not_ all right she was?

The young woman stumbled as she hurried up the stairs, her backpack slung over one shoulder.

"Riley!" Mrs. Kimmel called up the stairs after the huddled, retreating form of her daughter. "Riley Elizabeth Kimmel!"

The seventeen-year-old let out a low groan as she shut her door with a soft _click_. She _hated_ her name. It was so… soft. So like her sisters, so like how everyone _expected_ her to be.

There was Rosalyn, or more commonly Rose; the eldest of the Kimmel girls, and the most calm and collected by default. She was eight years older than Riley, and currently resided in a tiny suburb outside of Dallas where she worked as a fourth-grade teacher. With chocolate-brown hair, sky-blue eyes, and _curves_, she was the Prom Queen two years in a row. When Riley was sixteen years old, Rose married a doctor named Isaac McCaffrey. They have yet had any children.

Rachel was next; flamboyant, energetic, and eccentric. Her hair was a lighter, golden blonde, but her eyes were Rose's eyes—making Rachel a picture-perfect duplicate of her mother. Five years older than Riley, she was studying to be an engineer for NASA. As it turned out, when she focused her flighty nature she was a real brain. Not one to be left in her elder sister's shadow, she also sought out, and easily won, the Prom Queen title at their little high school in an Orlando suburb.

Rebecca, better known as Becca, was the closest to Riley in age, her elder by only two years. She was just like her father, with deep brown eyes and long, deep-brown hair. While her sisters were more calm and collected, Rebecca was always the loose cannon. She was the one who caused her parents the most grief, the highest loss of sleep. Prone to emotional rampages, she always had trouble controlling her temper.

Then there was the year and a half where she was a legal schizophrenic. Riley _hated_ thinking back to those times—when she was fourteen and fifteen—because Becca was _so_ terrifying. She was closed off—at some instances angry, others worried, and always prone to muttering to herself and having those intense mood swings. She was never fully sane. Her parents, having had enough, signed her up for a therapist as quickly as possible. It took then six months, but eventually Rebecca stopped hearing those voices in her head.

But she was never really cured. It was Becca's emotional instability that led to the legendary fight with her father when she dropped out of high school. Riley hadn't seen the youngest of her older sisters in nearly two years.

_First is the worst,_

_Second is the best,_

_Third is the one with the treasure chest._

While the rhyme wasn't very accurate, it by all means expressed Riley's feelings for herself. She was the forgotten fourth daughter, always hidden by her elder sisters' shadows. Rose was the gentle beauty, Rachel the brilliant mind, Becca the worrisome schizo. Riley wasn't special like that. No coordination, no poise, no confidence, no will power, no obscene mental condition that at least made her parents pay attention to her. She was neither her mother nor her father, with long, dirty-blonde locks and chocolate-brown eyes.

_Un-barfed chocolate_, a small voice deep within her smiled.

She was certainly the little sister no one liked to talk about. For starters, she had awful balance. Her whole life, she felt as if something was missing, a piece of her that was lost long before she could remember. Riley had trouble standing most of the time, always pitching to one side before she could reign in her imbalance. She was also unbelievably skinny, like a bean pole—the doctors said she had almost no body fat—yet she ate nearly twice as much as her sisters. Thus the whole school was dead-convinced that she was bulimic.

It didn't help that she had two angry, red scars down slicing down her back in two long lines parallel to her spine. Nor that she popped pills like candy, and would often mutter to herself. Had anyone cared to ask, they would have discovered that Riley felt so alone in her mind, like the little voice in her head just got up and walked out without another word. They would have learned that she hated small places, white lab coats, and the hospital. That she could climb trees like a squirrel, and that she _feared_ snakes.

But no one cared to ask.

"Riley." Mrs. Kimmel's voice was gentle now, as she tapped on her daughter's bedroom door. It opened nearly-silently, _swoosh_-ing over the carpet. The woman's gaze was concerned, warm, as she looked on at her youngest daughter, curled up in a tight ball on her bed. "How was school?"

"I just can't do this anymore, Mom," the teenager whispered, swiping away at the angry tears that trekked down her face.

Today was just another in a long line of tormenting. It wasn't the first time her so-called _peers_ pushed her too far. But today…

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

_Riley was walking down the hall, her books clutched tightly to her chest. The extra weight of her textbooks kept her stable, but not enough to stay standing when Greta 'accidentally' bumped into her. Folders and books tumbled to the ground, and Riley along with them. A laugh trembled through the onlookers._

"_Oops. Sorry, Kimmel." Greta's voice didn't sound remorseful at all. In fact, she sounded rather pleased. She gave a mean smirk down at Riley. "You should really watch where you're going." She paused for a beat, letting her complete revulsion seep into her words. "_Freak_."_

_As Riley scrambled to her feet, her face impassive while she was seething inside, Sean loped up, draping an arm around his girlfriend's shoulders. Greta smiled innocently up at her beau, twirling a lock of long, unnaturally bright-red hair. And simply because she knew it made Riley squirm, she leaned up and kissed him firmly, twining her fingers through his thick, dark hair._

_Riley blinked back the sudden burst of tears, but she couldn't look away. For some reason, she always pictured a different boy, a different girl. But watching her own mortal enemies still struck like a knife. She hated the both of them. The dynamic duo made it their personal mission to make every day of Riley's life a living hell._

_But there was something about watching them kiss like that—like they were the only two people alive—that broke her heart into little pieces._

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

"There's only four more days until break, dear." The mother sat down on the edge of the mattress, placing a tender hand on her daughter's thin shoulder.

"Not when those four days are at high school, Mom." Riley tried to shake away the feeling of total heartbreak, of betrayal, but it just settled more deeply into her chest. She couldn't get it out of her system. The awful thing about it was that she had no idea why.

"What if I told you we're doing something fun on Saturday?"

The young woman looked up, rubbing at her eyes in an attempt to calm herself for her mother. "What are we doing this weekend?"

Mrs. Kimmel smiled gently. "Rose has opened up her home for the week. She wants us all to have a real Thanksgiving, together."

Riley knew what her mother meant. Becca would be there, too.

"Are we flying?" Riley wasn't against the prospect of travel, even though it was to her older sister's house. But she would _not_ do it in a tiny tin can of death.

Her mother frowned. "Why? Do you not want to?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, letting out a tired whisper. "You know I can't do it, Mom."

"It's a twelve hundred mile drive from Orlando," Mrs. Kimmel replied tiredly, her brow creasing. "Who will go with you?"

Riley _hated_ that condescending tone, like everyone underestimated her. She wasn't a _child_. She could _handle_ herself. "Why can't I go by myself?"

Her mother nearly laughed. "I couldn't let you do that. You're too… special."

_If by special you mean broken_. Riley's brow furrowed, and she sat up said in a steely tone she wasn't aware of, "I am _not_ flying, Mother." If only she knew how ironic those words were.

"Well," Mrs. Kimmel placated, "Rachel will be home Friday night. I might be able to persuade her to drive you." She stood, brushing her back her daughter's hair. "But you _are_ coming."

"I never protested," she said flatly. Because protesting wouldn't have done her any good. They all would have gone anyway.

"Of course." Her mother gave another smile—that same one all moms give when their children protest but it does absolutely no good to change the fact—before exiting the room as quietly as she came.

Riley let out a moan and fell back onto her bed.

Dallas.

The word made her shudder. Dallas meant screaming cars and angry people and little sleep. It meant heated glares and cold shoulders. Ignorance and cruelty. Pain.

Riley sat up, and looked out the window. Why the city? Why not somewhere tucked into the mountains? Close to trees, the birds, the sky.

Outside, way up high, a flock of birds soared in a delicate V.

What would it be like to soar with the birds? To be kissed by the wind, to dip through a cloud? To fly on her very own wings, side-by-side with _him_? Her dark-haired boy, not Greta's. The boy with obsidian eyes, and that glorious smile—the one that made the world spin faster—meant for her and her alone.

Riley could fly with him…

…_if_ he was real, and not just some boy that haunted her dreams.

If only.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**A/N: **Notice a few parallels between this and the previous chapter? Were they intentional? Maybe. ;)

Now, Riley is different than you expected her to be. And it is completely, totally intentional. She's _supposed_ to have been changed. By what? Well, you'll just have to keep reading, now won't you?

You know, I really like Riley, and I hope you will, too. Because you really do know her. She's pretty important, but, then again, so are her sisters.

Now, you've met six people. Do you know who each one is?

Don't forget your random facts guys! But no more than ten please. :)

On to the next chapter! (I'm actually very excited. Honest-to-goodness, this is my first time reading this story through from beginning to end.)

Your faithful author,

Lea


	8. 6: Business Orders

**The theme song for this chapter is "Devour" by Shinedown.**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Incredible**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Chapter Six: Business Orders**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Monday, November 15****th****, 2010**

"_Excuse me_?"

The tech blanched, his breath sticking in his throat. "Ma'am?"

"They are all headed _where_, exactly?" The Director was staring daggers at the quivering man before her. She stood behind her desk, leaning against it to keep her hands from throttling the technical assistant.

"Dallas, Ma'am."

"And _why_ has no one done anything about it?"

"Ma'am, due to the nature of the memory removal process and after the doctors' experience with Valencia Martinez… the…" The man stuttered, watching as Marian Jenssen's hand strayed over to her security button. "The experiments are… not" —the tech gulped— "in the care of our… agents."

"_WHAT_?" the Director roared, slamming her hand on the black button. She was _beyond_ furious. How could this have slipped her notice for so long? _How could anyone have let this get on for so long?_ No matter. She was going to fix it.

The tech stumbled backward, into the arms of two hulking masses of muscle and fur—human-lupine hybrids.

While both generations of cyborgs were twice as consistent and they always responded to direct orders, there was something about the human-lupine hybrids she preferred. They were more… adaptable, thus they were more efficient. And in her position, the Director lived for efficiency.

There was also the _aura_ the original hybrids possessed—the one that rendered her enemies catatonic. That was definitely a plus.

As the Erasers grabbed him by the under arms and dragged him out, the tech hurriedly added, "We were given orders to alter the memories of the families the experiments were assigned to. These people know nothing!"

Marian Jenssen held up her hand, and the Erasers stopped their unceremonious removal of the tech. With steel in her voice and iron in her gaze, she asked, "_Who_ exactly, gave you the orders to put our most _expensive_ and _volatile_ experiments in the hands of _non-agents_?"

The man took a deep breath. "Dr. Jeb Batchelder," he muttered, wide-eyed.

Marian turned to send a fist flying into the wall behind her. Just before her knuckles met the stone, she paused. "What is your name?" she asked the tech calmly, loosing all her venom as she turned around.

"Robert Farrow."

"Robert, I won't kill you today," the Director said coolly. To the Erasers, she ordered, "Take him back to his station." They set Robert down, and lead him out by the shoulders.

As soon as they were gone, Marian shrieked in senseless rage, pounding on the intercom.

"Yes?" the secretary quickly supplied.

"Jeb Batchelder! NOW!" the Director snapped.

"Ma'am," the secretary began slowly, nervously, "Dr. Batchelder is not in the building at the moment."

"_Where is he_?"

There was a pause where clacking and hurried whispers could be heard through the intercom. The secretary took a deep breath and said, "Ma'am, we have no record of Dr. Batchelder in the building for the last three months."

Marian released the button, and let out a furious half-shriek, half-roar. She then composed herself and pressed the button once more. "Donna?" Her voice was a deadly calm.

"Yes, Ma'am?"

"Ready the jet."

"May I ask where your destination is, Ma'am?" Keys were already clacking away on the keyboard.

"I'm going to Arizona."

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Ella frowned when she heard a knock on her door. It was nearly nine o'clock, on a Monday night. Who wanted to see her now? It wasn't like they were here for her mother… well, on second thought, they probably _were_ here for her mother.

The sixteen-year-old wrapped her arms around her waist and headed out of the living room and into the foyer. A peek through the windows earned her a glance at two black Humvees sitting in the driveway. _Who's here?_ she asked herself nervously.

"Hello?" Her voice was cautious as she swung the door open to reveal… models? A collection of half-a-dozen male models stood on her front porch, behind a blonde woman who looked like she'd had one-too-many plastic surgeries. They were all dressed in black suits.

"Hello, Ella, dear," the woman said with a sinister smile. "Is your mother home?"

The whole situation was giving off bad vibrations. _How does she know my name? _Ella glowered and said, "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers." She gave the door a hearty push, slamming it shut… only to have it rebound and swing into the wall; one of the models had stuck his hand out and placed it over the door frame. Three of them pulled out handguns and directed them _straight at her_.

"I'm not quite sure you understand, Ella." The woman gave another sickly-sweet smile. "But there isn't really an option. Now, _tell me_, where is your mother?"

The teenager shook her head quickly, only to open her mouth and scream bloody murder.

As she did so, the models before her _transformed_ into these… _beasts_. Their mouths elongated into grisly, hairy muzzles, ugly yellow talons tore through their fingers, and thick fur erupted all over their arms and faces.

"Who are you?" Ella shrieked, slamming the door once again, and rushing back to the kitchen. The monsters banged into the wood, straining the hinges. _Where is it, where is it?_ She pawed through drawers and cabinets, looking for—_ Got it!_ Her hand landed on the cleaver they always kept out of high, out of reach. Before she was able to turn around, a thunderous _crack_ exploded from the foyer. Metal screeched, and wood crashed to the floor. _They are in my house!_ Ella ran up the stairs—thankful for the first time in her whole life that the only staircase was right next to the kitchen—sprinted down the hallway to her mother's bedroom, and flung herself inside.

"Mom!" she cried, slamming the door shut behind her.

Valencia struggled to sit up amidst the mass of sheets and pillows. "Baby, is that you?" she asked into the gloom. "Is that a knife?"

The beasts pounded around below, smashing glass and thundering around the first floor. Three sets of heavy footsteps found the stairs, and they raced up.

"_Mom_!" Ella insisted. "There are _monsters_ here! We have to get out!"

Valencia gave a dopey smile. "It's just a dream, Ella. Wake on up."

Ella couldn't stop the tears that were trekking down her face. "_No_, it's not! Mom! You _have to get up_!" The daughter set down the dangerous knife and helped her mother into a standing position. "Mom, we have to—"

The bedroom door burst open, and three wolf-monsters yanked Ella and her mother apart.

"LET GO OF ME!" the girl shrieked, struggling against the arms of steel that walked her through her house and out the door.

"Be nice to these men, Ella," her mother reproached from the arms of her captor. She made no move to try to escape. "We're playing a game. They're playing hide and seek with a flock of birdies, and we're supposed to help them."

"_MOM!_" Ella screamed, as the beasts led her to the first Humvee and her mother to the next. "They're going to _KILL_ us!"

As someone tossed her into the back and tied up her wrists and ankles with coarse, thick rope, the woman came up to the door. "Now, now, Ella dear," she sneered. "I have no plan to kill you. In fact, if you behave yourself, I won't _have_ to. This is merely for precaution. After all, it's just business. Have a nice trip."

The woman's cold, heartless face was the last thing Ella saw before the Humvee doors slammed shut, and she descended into a cold, heavy blackness.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**A/N: **This is your first official taste of the plot! What do you think?

Sorry that each chapter has been about a different person, I just can't change it at this point. When I was writing these first few chapters, I couldn't handle any more than this. Now I can. (You can see so in later chapters.) You may be a little confused with all the chapter-to-chapter point of view switches, but this story is all in third-person, so at least you won't be looking at an 'I' on the page and won't know who it is. Also, I just like third person. I like being the all-knowing narrator. Because that's what the author is. :)

So, any comments on this new twist? I'd like to hear your thoughts before we delve too deep. And, sitting here now and _knowing_ where this is going, I can assure you that it will only get deeper from here.

If at any time you ever get confused, please PM me and we can try to talk it through without divulging too much of the plot. That's for my beta and me to know and you to find out. :)

Once again, random facts anyone? (I will keep reminding you of this, just so you know.)

Hmm, I'm trying to remember what happens in the next chapter… I know we're back to one of the original six, but I can't remember who. (Actually, I have a pretty good hunch. But will I tell you? Of course not!) You'll just have to find out in the next chapter. :D

Your faithful author,

Lea


	9. 7: Shame

**Final Quick Recap: Riley/Owen/Aiden – 17 years old. Clara – 14 years old. Mike – 12 years old. Izzy – 9 years old.**

**If you're a visual person, I've make little character flow-charts to show who's met/related to whom. The links are on my profile, if you just scroll down and find "My Stories" and then "Incredible."**

**The theme song for this chapter is "Loser" by 3 Doors Down.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own my shameless allusion to our favorite boy wizard.**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Incredible**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Chapter Seven: Shame**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

_How _can_ six bird-kids save the world?_

**Tuesday, November 16****th****, 2010**

"Hi."

Izzy looked up from her book angrily. Harry was in the middle of Potions class, and he was just about to—

"I'm Haley." A girl with short, muddy-brown hair and pale-brown eyes stuck out her hand. "You're Izzy Conroy, right? You just moved here from New York?"

"Yeah." Izzy frowned and turned back to her book, leaving Haley's hand hanging.

"What's it like there?"

The taller girl glared across her desk. "Cooler. We lived right up in the woods, where the birds stopped by all the time. It was my _home_."

"You like birds, too?" Haley grinned. "My older brother and sister like birds. Well, they're my foster brother and sister. Sarah wants to become a bird doctor. Aiden just likes hawks, though. He tags along with Sarah when she goes to Blackland Prairie Raptor Center on the weekends."

"There's a raptor center?" Izzy set her book down. Maybe this girl _wasn't_ such a nuisance.

Haley nodded and opened her mouth to speak, just as Mrs. McCaffrey walked in, strategically piling all of her dark-brown hair into a loose bun atop her head, and said, "All right, class, take your seats."

The teacher set her purse down at her desk and smiled at the kids as they scrambled to their desks. "I hear we have a new student. Isadora, would you like to tell us a little bit about yourself?"

Izzy nearly laughed aloud at the question. There was _so much_ she could tell them. So much she _wouldn't_ tell them. As she stood, a flare of pain flashed through her back. _I'll have to get my medicine from the nurse soon_, she noted. But even so, walked up confidently to the front of the class, head held high. She wasn't afraid of a bunch of fourth-graders.

"My name is Isadora Conroy. But I respond to Izzy better. I have an older brother named Mike. He's in sixth grade. We moved here from Russell, New York. If I could have any superpower, I would want to fly, or be able to read minds. Or both. I like books, and stuffed animals. And I want a Scottie dog, but Mom is allergic." As she spoke, the tall girl took in her classroom, cataloging faces, and also, in the back of her mind, emergency exits—windows, doors, vents. Those kids sitting there in their desks didn't know what to make of her. She could tell they were confused. "That's it." Izzy nodded and went back to her seat at the rear of the classroom.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

"Izzy, can I talk to you?"

As the rest of the class funneled out for recess, the blonde girl hung back, walking up to her teacher's desk. "Yes?"

"Your mother informed me of your… condition."

Izzy's face fell, and she drew her long arms around her in a tight hug. "So you know about the shrink."

Her teacher nodded gently, her sky-blue eyes concerned. "And the myositis. You know, it's nothing to be ashamed of."

"_Ashamed_?" Izzy looked up, a fury in her eyes and in her words. "I am _not_ ashamed. Why would I be ashamed that I've lived half of my life in the hospital? Why should I be ashamed of the two ugly scars on my back?" Even as her eyes filled with tears, she only became angrier. "Why should I be ashamed that I have to see a psychiatrist? Why should I be ashamed that I am so hyped up on pills I barely know who I am anymore? Why should I be _ashamed_ of any of it?" She was nearly yelling now, her jaw clenched as tight as her fists. She bit back the tears in her eyes. _Don't cry. She wouldn't cry, so you shouldn't either_.

Mrs. McCaffrey met her student's eyes. The corner of her lips turned up in a knowing smile. "You know, you remind me a lot of my sister. She would say something _just_ like that. There _is_ no reason for you to be ashamed, Izzy. I'm sorry if you took my words the wrong way."

"Never mind." Izzy shook her head, refusing to meet her teacher's eyes. "It's nothing. Mike has it, too. And we're all so used to the doctors it's sad. But I still can't stand it there."

The teacher's smile widened. "Riley is the exact same way."

"Riley?" Izzy frowned, her hands unclenching.

"My sister. She's a senior this year. But you remind me so much of her. Don't tell me now, but do you like birds?"

Izzy nodded, slowly, as her teacher let out a light laugh. "How funny! You'd think you two knew each other!" She beamed. "Go on outside, Izzy."

The girl nodded, confused, and ran out of the classroom, her curls flailing out behind her. So, then, why did she have an excited thrill in the bottom of her stomach?

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Mike sat at the edge of the playground, fumbling with his pencil. He was still working on the schematics from Russell, even though they had moved three days ago. Tuesday seemed to stretch into oblivion. _God, I just want to get home, away from all of these people_, he thought bitterly. He sighed, thinking of his new bed and that awesome tire swing in the backyard.

"You're Mike Conroy, right? Wow, that's really cool!"

Mike jumped a foot in the air, spinning to glower at a smiling kid from his new class. What was his name again?

"I'm Dave, by the way," the stockier boy supplied. "That's really cool," he repeated, gesturing to the blueprints. "Is it like a firework or something? My foster brother makes fireworks, too. They actually work, and it's so cool because Aiden is _blind_."

"Really?" Could he get a partner in crime? _I've always wanted one of those_. Mike winced internally, thinking back to before Russell once again, to that time when things went so horribly wrong. If he'd had someone to help him make that bomb, _that_ wouldn't have happened.

"Mike!"

Izzy ran up to her brother, taking his arm and interrupting his thoughts. "What'cha doing?" She looked down at the paper and let out a low, horrified moan. "You said you'd stop, Mike!" she hissed, flicking a quick glance at the sixth grader standing a little ways away. "You _heard_ Mom. We _can't_ afford to move again!"

Mike shook off his sister's hand. "It's none of your business, _Isadora_," he said angrily.

And she retorted with as much venom, "Yes, it is, _Michael_."

The siblings only ever used their full names when they were too furious at each other to find the right words. The moment had suddenly become ten times more serious than either would admit.

"Michael, _I was there_," Izzy admitted, her voice steadily rising in volume. "I _saw_ what happened! What you did! Don't say it's none of your business, because if we have to move one more time, _I will never, ever speak to you again_!" Izzy _was_ screaming now. She let out a furious shriek and stalked away, wiping at her eyes as angry tears sprang up.

Mike was dumbstruck. _Oh, my God._ His sister had _seen_ the one thing that haunted his dreams, the one thing he most despised himself for. She had _been_ there. _Oh, my freaking God_.

Suddenly, a bitter run of anger shot through him. _She thinks she knows everything!_ Did she know the reason for all the schematics and explosives? Did she realize it was just so he could prove that he was actually _good_ for something? Did she know it was all because of _her_? Because she was so fragile and broken and scary that her mother had no time for her only son?

"Mike, are you okay?" Dave asked suddenly, fidgeting nervously at the side. "You're crying."

The taller boy brought a hand up to his cheeks, where, indeed, tears were falling. "I'm fine," he muttered, before racing off to the monkey bars. He climbed deftly to the top even as his back ached in protest, hoisting his body onto the metal and swinging his legs over the side. _At least I'm a little farther off the ground, now._ Mike angrily swiped away his tears as a chorus of giggles burst from the right. The swings. When the boy looked up, he spotted a group of little girls—the cause of the giggles. A little farther down, however, was his sister, furiously pumping back and forth. Higher and higher, closer and closer to the sky.

As the sun lit up her golden hair from behind, Mike froze in his spot, his churning thoughts grinding to a halt.

For one moment, he could picture his sister with huge, pearly-white wings, soaring through the air and looking truly _happy_. And suddenly, he was nothing but revolted at himself for ever thinking one mean, nasty, jealous thought of his innocent, messed-up little sister.

Because, in that one moment, she looked just like… an _angel_.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**A/N: **Now, I've gone through and beefed up the Mike part a bit. If anyone remembers the old chapter, do you think I did a better job characterizing him here? Or, do you, my new readers, think I did a good job? Do you feel like you know Mike better now? It's for reasons like this that I go through and edit. To fix up my mistakes and make them better. :)

I think I did a better job with this, and I do like this chapter better now. Previously, I hadn't. But it's a nice segway into the next chapter (I remember what _that_ is, heehee), and we connect a few dots here. I'm rather proud of it, really.

Hey, did anyone notice anything familiar about Angel's teacher? (You only just learned about her…)

Questions? Comments? A random fact/story? Tell it to me in a review and you will be eternally regarded as awesome. And I'll give you a cookie. ;) (Sorry, not towards the contest. A cookie just 'cause you're awesome.)

Your faithful author,

Lea


	10. 8: Recognition

**The theme song for this chapter is "Chasing My Tail" by Fox Avenue.**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Incredible**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Chapter Eight: Recognition**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

_She shrugged, her hair rustling against her top, but her voice was warm. "Just have fun in Dallas, Aiden."_

**Tuesday, November 16****th****, 2010**

The front door banged open, and Aiden sighed. His reprieve was over. Time for the kids.

"Aiden!" That was Dave. He stumbled up to where his older brother lay on the couch, eyes closed as he feigned sleep. "I know you're awake, Aiden, that hasn't worked on me since I was five. Whatever—guess what? We brought home some new kids!"

"We can't keep them, Dave," Aiden yawned. "They have a loving family who must miss them."

A new voice, coming from somewhere above Dave, laughed; the sound was both bitter and remorseful. "If by 'loving family' you mean distracted, workaholic mother, then, yes, we _certainly_ have a 'loving family.'"

Aiden paused, halfway between sitting and lying on the creaky, bad-for-his-back couch. That _voice_… he knew that voice. But it sounded… older, somehow. _How do I know that voice?_

Aiden felt his mouth open, and he said the first word that came to mind. "Gasman?"

There was a horrible pause, where no one made a sound and the room seemed to hold its breath.

The new voice said slowly, "No…"

"This is _Mike_, Aiden," the younger Wallace boy corrected. Suddenly, Dave sounded _very_ worried. "Dude, you're not… gassy, are you?"

But this new voice, Mike, never answered. A small, young girl's timid words spoke up first. Aiden didn't even hear her extra set of footsteps enter the room.

"Iggy?" She sounded close to tears.

_I know that voice, too_. Another word popped into his head, but this time, he kept it quiet. But… wait. Was that _his_ name she'd said?

"No, _Aiden_," Haley insisted, her socked feet sliding up along the smooth wood floor.

Suddenly, two wiry arms were wrapped around the seventeen-year-old's waist, and a curly-haired head pressed into his chest. Something about the little girl, the way she spoke, the way she flew through the air to hug him, tugged at some distant, buried memory. Aiden wrapped his arms around her and held fast. That one word, his initial reaction, seemed to suit her perfectly.

"Aiden," she said, voice muffled by his shirt. The older boy nearly laughed. She sounded so cross, like she was convinced that wasn't his name. "You're _Aiden_?" It was a statement posed as a question. She didn't believe it.

He did chuckle, rubbing her hair. "Yeah, and you're…?"

"Izzy." That was Mike's voice, and suddenly the little girl was tugged out of the seventeen-year-old's arms. "Leave the guy alone."

"But Mike…" Izzy's stubborn voice trailed off, and two pairs of feet hurried from the living room.

"What was that all about?" _Sarah._ She came up and put her hands on the back of the couch. "Dave, Haley, what are your friends doing hugging Aiden?"

"I'm not quite sure…" Haley trailed off, shuffling her feet. She sounded concerned, worried. "Izzy and Mike just moved here from New York. Tuesday was their first day at school."

There was a frown in Sarah's words. "Aiden, do you _know_ those kids?" She directed her question down at her older brother.

"I…" He couldn't say that he did, because he had _no_ idea who they were. But somewhere, buried deep down, in that same place that felt heart-stopping recognition at the Cowboys-Bears game, he _did_ know them, and he knew them _well_. "No," he murmured definitively.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Izzy stumbled out of the room as Mike yanked her arm. In the kitchen, he hissed, "Izzy, what was _that_ for?"

"I know him, Mike," she whispered. "I can _feel_ it. And I know _you_ know him, too." On the word "you" she poked him in the chest, her eyes blazing defiantly. "I saw your eyes."

Mike glared at his sister, then glanced over his shoulder at the young man sitting on the couch. With his pale, freckled skin, strawberry-blonde hair, and cloudy blue eyes, he seemed so _familiar_. But Mike didn't know him, and he had no idea why Aiden called him _Gasman_. How did anyone know about that, anyway? That was between his family and him. No one outside of his mother and his sister knew. He _couldn't_ have them know about that. That as too personal.

Yet… something fired up in the back of his mind when his sister called the boy Iggy; a sudden flare of recognition that was instantly washed away.

"Izzy… did you take your medicine this afternoon?" he hated himself for bringing it up, but he had to make sure. _If she didn't take her medicine, them maybe this is just her mind playing tricks on her_, he reasoned.

His sister's heartbroken face was all he needed in confirmation. "Why does everyone think I am _crazy_? I am _not_ crazy!" Izzy's horrified, appalled eyes glared up at her brother. "How can you _think_ that? You're my brother…" Her face crumpled, and she raced out the back door as fast as her legs could carry her.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

The sniffling above his head was all Aiden needed to guide him to the old tree house. Hands met wood and feet met bark and he hoisted himself into the small, raised shack.

"What are you doing here?" Izzy sniffed, scooting away from the hole in the floor so the seventeen-year-old could climb through.

He let his feet dangle over the edge, hearing her sniffling come from a far corner. "Are you okay?" he asked gently. He'd learned from Dave and Haley that they kids' last name was Conroy, and that they were needed home by four-thirty. They only had fifteen minutes, and Mike hadn't made any move to go get his sister. Sarah was busy as well, so it fell to Aiden to get the little girl out of the tree.

Izzy swiped at her eyes, and her hair rustled as she shook her head. "Aiden," her scared little voice came from the right, and the young man scooted a little closer to it. "Do you know who I am?"

"You're Izzy Conroy?"

"No, do you _know_ who I am?"

Aiden paused for a moment. She seemed to know the burst of recognition that flared within his chest whenever Izzy or her brother spoke. She acted like she had the same feeling. "Do you?" A split second late, he realized that he was asking his own question, how replying to hers.

"I feel like I should, but… I don't know." The confusion and distress in her light little voice were evident.

The older boy felt himself smile. "That's how I feel," he said truthfully.

"Mike thinks I'm crazy." Izzy sounded close to tears.

"Your brother?" Aiden scooted next to the young girl and draped an arm around her shoulder, like he often did for the younger kids. _She's just like them_, he thought.

Izzy nodded. "I mean, I see a shrink, so I guess he has his reasons. But he doesn't have to go and _call_ me crazy like that."

"Why do you see a shrink?"

Izzy buried her head in his chest. "Sometimes I hear voices," she murmured, ashamed of herself despite what she told her teacher.

"What kind of voices?" Aiden drew her shaking, crying form close, brushing down her frazzled curls. Hearing her so distressed made his heart ache, too. But it didn't make any sense. He barely knew her. Scratch that. He _didn't_ know her at all.

"They feel like _thoughts_," the girl admitted, horrified as the words slipped out of her mouth.

The young man stiffened. "Can you hear _my_ thoughts?"

Izzy shook her head. "Nope. But I…" Should she tell him? Should she divulge her deepest, darkest secret in the entire universe? Izzy thought she could. She could tell Aiden, because she _knew_ him, despite the fact that she didn't _actually_ know him. "I… I do remember one thought. I haven't told Mike or my mom, though," she added hastily, "so you can't tell them either."

"Of course not."

The girl took a deep breath to steady herself. "She felt scared, furious. She said to me, 'Don't worry, angel. We _will_ survive this. I'll find you all, I promise.'"

"Angel." Aiden beamed suddenly, squeezing her frail shoulders after his whole body had tensed when she'd murmured his instant reaction to her voice.

Izzy nodded. "She called me an angel."

"No, she said _Angel_. Capital 'A'. It's your _name_." The young man was nearly shaking with pent-up excitement.

"What?"

"She called _you_ Angel the way you called _me_ Iggy."

Her little gasp in understanding, but still she paused for a moment. "So…" The girl mulled this over, pulling herself upright. After a moment, she whispered, nervous, "Aiden?"

"Yes?"

"You called Mike Gasman. How could you have known that?"

"Known what?" He didn't know who the kid was—or did he? Aiden shook his head. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, he knew for a _fact_ that Mike was in Dave's class.

There was a slight laugh in Izzy's voice, and Aiden felt himself smile at her small happiness. "Mike had digestive problems when he was little. He used to be really… _gassy_." She giggled, sounding like the tinkling of chimes. Suddenly, her voice changed, became melancholy. "But he would always get teased about it at school. So mom took him in to a doctor, and now he's all better. But he still hates me when I bring it up. So don't tell him I told you, okay?"

Aiden tilted his head back and laughed hard. Holy moly, that kid Mike Conroy was _familiar_. Just like… but he couldn't place a name. "Don't tell me, he builds explosives, too?" he chuckled almost to himself.

Izzy stiffened. In a half-awed, half-scared whisper, she said, "How do you _know_ that?"

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**A/N: **I'd originally had 48 reviews going into this chapter. Now I have over 400. But I was so psyched about it, all the same. We take baby steps, we really do.

Speaking of baby steps, there will be QUITE a few baby steps in this story, much like this one. I take it, by now, that you've figured out the secret of my little name changes. The details, however, you don't know. And you probably won't know all the details until later on. (If I remember correctly, I do explain a few things in the next few chapters. But most of it might not even be addressed until the sequel, which is _coming_.)

This is a rare instance where the same characters are in two consecutive chapters. Also, keep track of the dates, it might help you to understand the story a bit better and keep you a little less confused. (That's why I've added them.)

Still, have any questions? Comments? Hopes for the future? A funny fact that will make me smile and get me to like you (so, when the sequel food contest rolls around, you'll be in prime position to earn extra snacks because I actually _enjoy_ getting your reviews)?

I knew there was a reason I kept asking these questions! ;)

On to the next chapter!

Your faithful author,

Lea


	11. Interlude: Inferno

**Hey, guess what? It's an actual NEW CHAPTER! Basically, no one has yet read this interlude of sorts, which goes back in time to give a little background to my characters. Pay special attention to the date, my friends. (Hint: Look at this date, and then the date of the prologue. They MEAN things!)**

**The theme song for this chapter is "Burn" by Three Days Grace.**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Incredible**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Interlude: Inferno**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Friday, October 10****th****, 2008**

"Yeah _right_."

The collection of eight boys—all nine years old, all living on the same street—threw their heads back and laughed uproariously. Mike glared harder at the leader of the little pack, _Daniel_, the one he'd been forced to 'play' with on account of their mothers being friends. "I'm being serious," he said angrily, crossing his arms and stiffening his lower lip.

The group stood around under the shade of the old oak tree on the corner of Old Man Harris's property. Old Man Harris was an English teacher up at the high school, but he lived on a huge piece of land—maybe twenty acres—merely a fifteen-minute drive from the town. Ironically, the trip to his house took the old teacher the long way around his property; there was actually a well-used path cutting straight through the woods at the north end of the town that most of the children frequented, and was only about a five minute bike ride. The group of nine-year-olds was not the first to claim the old oak tree as their meeting place; it's been used for decades for the same purpose by an entire generation.

Right now, the boys were hanging out after another long school day. The tree was their usual meeting place on Fridays, where they would stay until the sun set.

Now, Daniel raised an eyebrow, mimicking the taller, blonde boy's stance. "Sure. Like you can _actually_ make a working _bomb_."

"I can," Mike repeated, his eyes widening in his irritation. "I've done it before, and it's worked! I've taken out a Humvee!"

This sent the boys into another round of disbelieving chortles.

Mike clenched his fists. He'd _had_ it, now. "I can show you!" he exclaimed, his shoulders shaking in barely-suppressed fury. _Stop underestimating me!_

This silenced his so-called 'friends.' "You can?" Tony asked, wide-eyed in excitement. "You can really make something explode?" Daniel glared at him, but the rest of the boys' interests were piqued, too, and quickly began shouting out questions of "What can you get to explode?" and "Can we blow up my math homework?"

Mike blanched under the attention. He _never_ got this much attention, not even from his mother. _Especially_ not from his mother, who had too much to worry about with his crazy little sister. But this… this. Was. _Awesome!_ "Someone might get mad if I blew up math homework, but I can do a firework sort of thing." Now Daniel was interested, too.

"What do you need?"

Mike thought for a moment then began to list items, ticking them off on his fingers. "Well, I'll need a VHS player and remote, pliers, peanut butter, some ammonia, a couple onions, a can of hair spray, some matches, a bowling ball, and something heavy, like a cement block. And probably a wagon to carry it."

The boys immediately called out items they had at home; one boy's father used to be a professional bowler, while another's worked on cars and always had spare cinder blocks lying around. After a quick discussion, they all agreed to meet back up at the tree in half an hour, bringing the items they'd promised too. With a quick, "Break!" the nine-year-olds climbed onto their bikes and dispersed into the woods, crashing along the brush and getting jostled by the hidden branches and stones.

Mike was the last to clamber onto his bike, for he knew that he wouldn't be able to ride as fast as the others. His back condition—the myositis—weakened his back muscles and made it harder for him to do things like run or bike. He _could_ still ride his bike and run with the boys, just not for too long and he was always stiff afterwards. So, as he began to jostle and bump himself down the path in through the woods, it was wincing every so often, moving only fast enough to keep his bike steady.

What should have been a five-minute trip took Mike ten, and as he coasted down the small hill into his subdivision he was breathing heavily, his chest throbbing painfully and his back aching right between his shoulder blades.

He rolled, relieved, into the driveway, hastily punching in the garage code and setting his bike against the wall of a very empty garage. "Anybody home?" he called, stepping into the mudroom and shelling off his jacket. When there was no reply, his heart plummeted. _She's gone again,_ he realized mournfully. He walked slowly into the kitchen, his stomach growling, and spotted a clumsily-folded note lying on the counter. He swiped it off of the granite and flipped it open.

'_Michael,'_ the note read in the boy's mother's looping, smooth cursive, _'I'm needed back at the office, and then I'm running out to the grocery store to get some more coffee. I'll try to be back in time for your sister's seven-thirty psychiatrist appointment, but I make no promises. If I'm not home by seven, just call them up and say we're running late. The number is at the bottom. Isadora is downstairs watching TV, and if you two are hungry you know how to microwave those TV dinners. XOXO – Mom'_

Mike's jaw tightened, and he immediately crumpled the up the offending paper and tossed it into the trash. "Love you, too, Mom," he spat bitterly, staring at the trash can for a moment.

_Snap out of it, stupid! _ The nine-year-old shook his head and cast a glance over his shoulder at the door leading down into the basement. He crept over to it silently, peeking his head in to peer down the stairs. He couldn't see the couch—it was up against the far wall—but the TV was blaring a loud commercial for one of the shows Izzy liked to watch. _She's safe downstairs for a while,_ he decided, closing the door softly and creeping over to the fridge. He opened the door wide and groped inside the vegetable drawer to extract two glorious, hefty onions out. A quick dash to the foyer resulted in the contents of his backpack being overturned onto the tile in front of the door and the two onions being placed inside. Mike slung one of the straps onto his shoulder and glanced around at the mess he'd made. _Oh, well_. He'd be home before his mother, anyway. With one final glance at the basement door, he slipped back through the mudroom and outside.

Little did he know that a pair of flashing, inquisitive blue eyes peeking out from the basement door spied him as he left.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

"Pilers." Mike stuck out his palm, and Jimmy handed his father's good pliers to the pyro. The taller boy fiddled with the wires of the old tape player for a moment before standing up and backing away from the contraption. The rest of the group was ten paces away from where the wagon sat, out in the middle of the field. Even with that distance, they still stumbled back an extra few feet. Mike pulled the ancient TV remote from his pocket and flipped it over in his hands, popping in the spare set of batteries that Billy had brought. "Okay," he said, looking up at everyone. "We're live, so we should all—"

"What are you kids doing?" An old, withering voice called angrily at them. The nine of them all froze, like deer in a pair of headlights. _Oh no._ Old Man Harris limped crookedly over to them, leaning heavily on his gnarled cane with each step.

The boys shared a quick glance before decided on one very simple, easy-to-follow command: _Run!_ Daniel counted off on his fingers slowly as the old teacher hobbled ever closer. _One, two, three!_

Like a droplet of water on a window, the boys ran like the devil was chasing after them, dispersing but all headed in the same direction—the woods.

"Get back here, you miscreants!" Old Man Harris shouted gruffly. Mike cast a look over his shoulder as he sprinted for the safety of the trees, watching as the old man waddled steadily closer, now shaking his cane above his head madly.

Before the boy could take another step into the trees, his foot caught on a protruding root and the ground flew up to meet him. In a last-ditch effort to save his face, Mike stuck out his hands, one of them still holding on tightly to the remote. His palms hit the ground hard, crushing the remote into the dirt.

There wasn't a second of silence before a horrendous _BA-BOOM_ split through the air, accompanied by the smell of flash-cooked onions and burnt peanut butter and the dull _thunk_ of the cement block hitting the ground. Mike climbed shakily to his feet, glancing around. The other boys, his 'friends,' were all gone. He was alone. The nine-year-old squeezed his eyes shut and made a quick, silent prayer, seconds too late. _Please, please, please!_

Ever-so-slowly, he turned around, looking back out into the field. A smoking, disfigured mass of metal and plastic—what used to be the wagon and the VHS player—sat forlornly in the dissipating mushroom cloud. A little ways away was the cement block… It had landed on the crumbled, unmoving body of the old English teacher.

Mike's eyes barely registered this before he was climbing back onto his bike—ignoring the protests from his back—and pedaling away as fast as he could.

He was in such a hurry that he didn't see a curly, blonde-haired little girl peek out from behind that old oak, tears streaming down her face.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**A/N: **So, what do you think? I did this mainly for characterization. I needed to show you more of Mike, and you needed to know this. (Has anyone noticed something fishy about the date, yet? Something _is_ strange, but it's strange for a reason.)

So, this was the scene that was mentioned back in Chapter 1. (The reason they had to move to Russell, mind you.) And if you've looked at this date and the one back from the prologue, you should've noticed that they're a little… wonky. Do you know what this means? (If you can tell me in a review, I'll be able to find out if you've got it right or not. This is just a bit of information that would be really helpful if you figured out.)

Questions? Comments? Did something totally bizarre happen to you today that you just HAVE to tell someone about? Why don't you review! ;)

Your faithful author,

Lea


	12. 9: Imprisoned

**The theme song for this chapter is "Memory" by Shinedown.**

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**Incredible**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Chapter Nine: Imprisoned**

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_The woman's cold, heartless face was the last thing Ella saw before the Humvee doors slammed shut, and she descended into a cold, heavy blackness._

**Thursday, November 18****th****, 2010**

Ella shuddered, rubbing at her wrists. She didn't know how long she had been shackled to that table, didn't know how long she'd been asleep. Didn't know where her mother was. Didn't know if her mother was even _alive_.

But she did know she was in a little crate, like a _dog_. Like Magnolia.

There even _was_ a little dog across from her, in a smaller cage. This one could have been Toto, from the Wizard of Oz. He (even though Magnolia was a girl, Ella still felt compelled to believe that all other dogs were male) had the same stout legs, the same Scottie face. Except for his eyes. Utterly _too_ human eyes.

Suddenly, the dog looked up, his freaky eyes meeting hers. And he broke into the most human grin she'd ever seen. "Ella," the dog whispered in awe.

_Did that dog just—_

Ella's thoughts were cut off by the sounds of her own screams.

"Shh! Shh!" a voice to her left hissed. "They'll come back if you _don't shut up!_"

The feathery mound stirred in the cage next to hers, and a girl emerged from a pair of maroon wings, her haunting, dark-green eyes stern. Her limp, white-blonde hair stood out against her dark clothes, a glaring contrast in the dim light. "Quiet, Ella," she murmured gently. "You don't want them to come back."

The teenager snapped her mouth shut, but only for a moment. Too many questions poured out of her mouth. "Who are you? Where am I? Where is my mother? What did they do to her? _What_ are you? _How do you know my name?_" But the most obvious one—_Is this a dream?_—didn't escape her. Because it all felt too real; too much like she was never going to see the light of day again.

The dog sighed, looking to the winged girl for help. "They really _did_ erase their memories. I didn't believe it. But they really did."

"Total, you couldn't have done a thing." The winged girl looked pained. She rubbed at her arms, which were cut and bruised. "We couldn't fight them then."

The dog, Total, nodded. He looked back up to Ella. "My name is Total," he said sadly. "This is Wren." He gestured with a paw to the winged girl. "Her brother is Jay." Wren moved to the side, to reveal that the next cage down contained the shaking form of a boy with dark blue wings. He could have been a carbon copy of his sister; his own green eyes wide in shock. "Is she done?" was his scared, fragile whisper. The boy couldn't have been more than eight.

"Yeah, she's all done screaming, Jay," Wren whispered soothingly. She wriggled her hand out through the cage bars to clasp her brother's shaking fingers. "Go on back to sleep."

Jay nodded quickly, giving Ella a distrustful glance before lying back down on the hard metal of the cage floor.

"Sorry," Wren said in a whisper, turning back to Total and Ella. "He's a little jumpy," she explained to the sixteen-year-old. "They messed with his hearing. Everything is even louder for him than it is for us." Her eyes betrayed her pain, and she shook her head. "Your other questions." She looked back up, her expression now hard and angry. "Short story: you're in the Institute, a place where evil, wackjob scientists mess with Mother Nature to make weapons of mass destruction. Your mom… I'm not sure. The whitecoats—the scientists—know not to speak around us. We're too smart for their own good." She cracked a mischievous smile, casting a glance at Total.

He gave a small, doggy smile in return. "As for what we are, well, Wren and Jay are easy. They're human-avian hybrids. Kids with wings. Ninety-eight percent human, two percent avian. The perfect combo." Was it just her, or was there really a melancholy glint in the dog's eyes? "Me? I'm not so sure. I'm a dog, as you can tell. And I can talk, that's obvious, too. But I also have wings. And before the wings, I could jump really, really high." Here the glint turned wistful. "I know the whitecoats remember me, but they won't tell me what I am." Now the glint turned furious.

"Wait… you have _wings_?"

Total grimaced, scurrying to one side of his cage and partially extending an inky-black wing from his back. The wing couldn't have been more than three feet across—and it wasn't even stretched out fully—but Ella could just tell that it wasn't fully grown yet. She spent too much time with her mom in the veterinary office. Her mother…

"Ella, snap out of it."

That was Wren, speaking gently.

Total sat back on his haunches, eyeing Ella, his doggy brow furrowed. "Nothing about this strikes you as familiar?"

Ella leaned back against of the metal of her cage. Now that he mentioned it, Total's voice _was_ familiar. But like she'd heard it long ago, before she could fully remember everything. Then she remembered something crazy. "Where's the white dog?" she asked, looking around, but the only other cage she could see was empty. She really didn't want to know what was there before. Something in her gut knew most of the whitecoats' other experiments weren't as lucky as Total, Wren, and Jay.

Total made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. He turned away, burying his muzzle in his paws to muffle his choking sobs.

"Shh, shh," Wren soothed. She turned to Ella, her eyes full of hurt, and whispered, "They got Akila, the white dog. They… it wasn't pretty. She didn't survive." She pointed at the empty cage directly across from her and to Total's immediate right. "That was her cage."

"So, then—"

Ella was interrupted by the opening of the door to their prison room. A man in a long, white lab coat walked in, tossing a stale bread roll into each of the four occupied cages. Next came brown bananas and a water bottle, or, in Total's case, a bowl of water. Then he was gone.

Wren heaved a sigh, ripping apart her roll. "Eat up," she said gently, even though Ella was her senior by nearly two years. "This is the only meal you'll be getting for at least twenty-four hours."

The teenager winced, eyeing the banana—oozing its innards onto the floor of her cage—with disgust.

Before she had a chance to examine her 'meal' any further, the door opened once more. A woman in a lab coat entered, her heels _click-clack_-ing across the tile. Her sharp blonde hair and stern, menacing brown eyes stared at Ella intently. _The woman from before._ Ella couldn't mistake that cold, superior gaze for anything.

"Hello, Ella, dear," the woman sneered, her voice just as icy as it had been before. "I am the Director. Welcome to the Institute for Higher Living."

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**A/N: **Hey, look who's back! It's Total. :) He's always been one of my favorite characters, and I couldn't just leave him. But I do feel bad about Akila. *sighs* So, what do you think so far of Wren and Jay? They'll be playing a larger part in the story as it progresses, so what do you think of them early on?

Sorry about the switchy-ness of the chapters. Izzy, Mike, and Aiden won't be back until chapter 13. But the good news is that Chapters 11 and 12 are pretty awesome, if I do say so myself. :)

Oh! You know how, in Chapter 6, Dr. M was a little… off? It's all explained in Chapter 14. But please, read these in order. I wrote them this way because this is the order in which they happen. The dates, save the one from last chapter, are chronological. (If you haven't noticed.)

For example, the next few chapters all occur on Saturday.

Like, for instance, Chapter 10!

Any guesses on who's in Chapter 12? (It's pretty exciting, but you will probably be mad at me for it, hehe.) Any questions on the story so far? Want to yell at me for completely messing up someone? Tell them to me in a… review!

Your faithful author,

Lea


	13. 10: Nonstop

**The theme song for this chapter is "Bright Lights" by Matchbox Twenty.**

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**Incredible**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Chapter Ten: Nonstop**

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_Dallas—and freedom—here I come!_

**Saturday, November 20****th****, 2010**

Clara swung her duffle bag into the back of the Hyatt's white suburban, earning an impressed whistle from her best friend. With worry in her voice, she asked, "What?"

Danika laughed. "Clara, that thing weighs nearly as much as you do! Yet you swing it around like a pillow." She rolled her eyes. "I will _never_ understand how you got to be so strong. How much do you weigh, again? Like, a hundred pounds?"

Her friend's brow pinched together. "I don't know. The doctor's say I have like zero body fat. They think it's because of all the crap they did to my back when I was a baby." Speaking of her back, that little stunt with the duffle bag had it panging in pain a bit. Maybe the car ride would soothe it.

"So you're all muscle. Awesome!" Danika held up her hand for a high-five, which Clara returned weakly. "So, Clara, dear," the auburn-haired girl asked, squeezing her friend's shoulder, "what stores are we gonna hit up while in Dallas, Texas?"

Clara gave a tiny smile. "Why don't we just crawl the mall? After all—"

"Everything's bigger in Texas!" they finished together, laughing.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

_I spy, with my little eye…_

Clara was going to explode. Who knew car rides were so freaking _long_? She glanced over at Danika, who'd fallen asleep listening to her iPod. How could she do that? Didn't she itch, didn't she want to crawl up the walls, didn't she, too, feel like she was going to scream _if she didn't get out of this car NOW?_

Clara needed to open a window, even if it would ruin her already-unmanageable hair. She had to feel _something_ other than the fake breeze blowing on her face from the vents in the ceiling. _I have to get out of here_, _I HAVE to get out of here!_

"Um, Ms. Hyatt?"

The mother glanced up in the rear-view mirror to find Clara's face contorted in agony. "What's wrong, dear?" she asked with concern, her eyes flickering back to the road.

"Can we stop? _Please?_"

Her face softened, and she flipped her gaze up to the rear-view mirror once more to catch her charge's eye. "Long ride?"

"It's been six hours. I think I might explode." Clara fought to keep the desperation out of her voice. But it was _so_ hard.

"There's an oasis in ten miles. Can you wait a few more minutes?"

The teen blew out a rush of relieved air. "Thank you, Ms. H."

"No problem, Miss B." Ms. Hyatt gave a small smile.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

"So," Danika said, sitting down at their little table, "Christie Ann says that we should spend a day at North Park. It's like _the_ mall to crawl." She took a sip from her diet soda pop. "And then Thursday is the football game and Thanksgiving dinner. We should get to my sister's apartment sometime tomorrow. She said the company is paying for a hotel room for us for the first few nights. Then it's my sister's apartment and a futon." The pale girl's cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

Clara let out a laugh. "Dani, I've slept in worse places." And she had, or, at least, she thought she had. On occasion, she'd wake up and feel completely _un_-rested, like she'd slept on a cave floor or something crazy like that. A futon would be heaven compared to that.

"Okay." Her friend grinned. "So, what else do you want to do? We'll have two whole days to kill, not including the one devoted to the mall."

Carla was quiet for a moment. "I'm not sure… I mean, well…" She sighed and took a deep breath, steadying herself. "There's a place not too far out called the Blackland Prairie Raptor Center, and they have a bunch of hawks and birds and stuff. But if you don't want to go that's fine. I mean, I would totally understand. It's just that we've lived in the city our whole entire lives and never, not once had I actually seen a hawk or something that wasn't in the zoo. So I just thought that maybe we could spend a day out there, looking at the birds. If it's okay with you, of course. What am I saying? You probably don't want to go to a stupid raptor center. Danika, you hate birds, don't you? You know what? Forget I mentioned it. We can go see a movie or something." Clara had steadily begun speaking faster and faster, so by the time she finished, her words were said so close together they were barely distinguishable. She hurriedly bit into her sub sandwich to end her rant.

Danika let out a light laugh. "Clara, if you want to go to a raptor center, we can go to a raptor center. And girl," she added with a smile, "when I said I hate birds, I meant the rat-birds that live in the city, you know, seagulls and pigeons and their ilk. Hawks are awesome. They're like, fierce and totally badass."

Ms. Hyatt smiled as well. "Clara, would you like to visit the raptor center?"

Their guest nodded sheepishly, swiping at her mayo-dotted lips with a napkin. "That would be awesome, Ms. H."

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Clara sighed happily, looking out at the window. Three more hours into their fourteen-hour trip, and she wasn't yet freaking out. _We're going to a raptor center_. She couldn't believe how incredibly awesome it was that she'd get to see actual live _hawks_.

The funny thing was, sometimes Clara pictured herself as one of the awesome birds. Fierce and deadly and swift and sleek and strong and _happy_. Loved. Part of a family.

Like in her dreams.

She'd never told anyone—especially not her father or the Hyatts— about the dreams, the ones where she was flying high, flying fast, and flying free. In her dreams, she wasn't a hawk, but herself, adorned with humongous tawny wings. And she wasn't the only one; there were five others. Two blonde kids who could only have been brother and sister with the same, creamy-colored wings. A strawberry-blonde-haired guy with white wings tipped with black. A dark-haired guy with purple-black wings. A dark-blonde-haired girl with molten-brown wings speckled with white. And a tiny black Scottie dog, with little black wings of his own. Yet she never saw any of their faces.

If the dreams weren't so incredibly implausible themselves, she'd think nothing of it. But it felt so _strange_, like she actually knew these people, like she'd spent her whole life with them. Stranger still was how she would wake up. Whenever she had the dream, she'd always awaken to a wet pillow.

As if she'd been crying, nonstop, in her sleep.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**A/N: **There actually was a little set-up in this chapter, believe it or not. This is not the last time you will hear of the Blackland Prairie Raptor Center. (And, it's even Clara who has a shining moment there.)

Yeah, so she and Danika are pretty much typical teenagers. But I liked writing this chapter, because it shows you a bit who Clara _really_ is. (You know by now, I'm sure.) But can I actually say it? Is it okay if I just switch to everyone's real names?

Sorry about the lengths of these chapters. They're really relatively short, and it kind of bothers me. But I'm reading through these, and I can't really add more without messing up the chapter on a whole. But there will be places where missing scenes need to be recreated, and maybe even a whole new chapter will result in that. (Like with the Interlude between Chapters 8 and 9.)

Questions? Comments? Want to know the secret of the universe? (I do, too.) You can always review. :D

Your faithful author,

Lea


	14. 11: Slip Stream

**There are a few mild curses in the beginning of this chapter.**

**The theme song for this chapter is "First Time" by Lifehouse.**

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**Incredible**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Chapter Eleven: Slip Stream**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

_Riley could fly with him…_

…if_ he was real, and not just some boy that haunted her dreams._

_If only._

**Saturday, November 20****th****, 2010**

"C'mon, _hermanita_!" Rachel climbed into the driver's seat of the Sedan, using the Spanish word for little sister to call her not-so-little sister out of the house. Their parents had taken a taxi to the airport around five that morning, and the girls were heading out two hours later.

"I'm coming!" Riley stumbled out of the house, lugging her duffle bag over her shoulder, despite the pain shooting up her spine. She dumped her bag into the trunk and slammed the silver hatch shut, scrambling into the passenger seat.

"Is the house locked up?" the elder sister asked, sticking the keys into the ignition and starting the car, grinning when the engine rumbled to life.

"Yes." Riley rolled her eyes, reclining against the leather seat.

"All righty!" Rachel grinned, gunning the engine. She didn't seem like it, but she was really a cautious driver. She just had a need for speed. "Buckle up, Riles."

_Damn nickname_.

Riley bit her tongue, refraining from hissing "I _know_" as she clicked her seatbelt. She hated that condescending tone. She hated being the baby sister. And she was always, _always_ the baby sister.

"So, Mom says school's been tough for ya," Rachel began, pulling out of the driveway.

"It's none of your business, Rachel," the younger woman muttered, crossing her arms protectively across her chest.

"It _is_ my business, Riley. Believe it or not, you're my sister and I actually love you. So when kids give you a hard time, they give me a hard time, too."

"No one's giving me a hard time."

Rachel's hands clenched the steering wheel, but she didn't glance at her sister. "That's a bunch of BS, and you know it. Riles, you can't let these kids get to you. You may not have a place in high school, but that will as sure as hell change. In fifteen years, neither those jerks nor what they thought of you will matter. What _will_ matter in fifteen years is what _you_ think of yourself. Don't let those kids get under your skin, okay? Because you are pretty awesome, no matter what anyone else says." She tossed a quick grin to Riley as they pulled onto the interstate.

Riley bit her lip. If only it were that simple. It was hard to live in a shadow, especially three shadows each a mile long. "Okay," she muttered, reaching out and clicking on the radio.

As music filled the blaring silence, the two sisters sank into their own thoughts. Rachel's mind drifted over to her younger sister, and to the kind of person she would be in fifteen years.

Riley's thoughts were darker than that. As she hummed along to the radio, her train of thought took a pessimistic turn. _Will there even _be_ a world in fifteen years?_

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

"Rachel."

"Hmm?"

"Can we stop?"

Rachel opened her mouth to reply, but froze when she saw her sister's face. She turned back to the road, glancing at the signs. "There's an exit in twenty-five miles. Can you wait that long?"

"I think so." Riley's voice came out shaky. "Can we open the windows?"

"Sure." Rachel flicked the switch, opening the two windows as far down as they would go. As the breeze slapped at her face, she was silently thankful that she had pulled her hair up that morning.

Strangely, Riley wasn't bothered by the wind buffeting her face and tossing her hair around as if in a blender. She lay back against the seat, her face as white as a sheet or paper and tinged with green, eyes closed, and mouth turned up in a barely-perceptible smile.

She just couldn't handle it any longer, the tiny metal box that was the Sedan. She didn't do well with tiny spaces. Elevators, trains, cars. They were enough to make her hysterical, and nauseous on top of it.

If it weren't for the breeze, she'd explode into a thousand pieces. The breeze…

The calming, lulling, oddly _reminiscent_ breeze. She could almost picture herself lifting off the ground; strong, weightless. Soaring over the sky…

She yawned, her eyes flickering open and closed in an attempt to fight off sleep. When had she ever grown tired in a car? She _never_ slept during car rides. Ever.

But… there was something… _soothing_ about the whistling of the wind and the hum of the engine and the drone of the ballad on the radio. As hard as she tried to fight it, Riley felt herself slipping… slipping…

Falling…

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

There he was.

_Fang_.

_Finally_.

He had come back. After all this time. He was back. He was here. For _her_.

He hadn't changed. Penetrating obsidian eyes, thick black hair, tough olive skin. Rumpled black tee, muddied jeans, worn-out sneakers.

"_Max_," he whispered.

Hot tears blurred her vision. She wanted to run forward, to embrace him, kiss him. Make sure he was real. That he wasn't a dream. She took a step forward, but that was it. What if he _had_ changed? What if he didn't love her like he used to? What if he had moved on? Found someone else? _Replaced_ her?

"Max," he said again, a new pain in his usually emotionless eyes. He glanced down at his feet, and she saw how his shoulders shook. When he looked up his eyes were red, glistening with tears. "I'm sorry." His breath hitched in his throat.

And just like that, they were sprinting forward, crashing together, squeezing hard. They sobbed into each other, relishing in the firm, solid hold.

He squeezed her close, smoothing down her hair and planting kisses on her cheeks. "I am so sorry." His voice came out husky, pained.

"Don't be," she found herself saying, despite everything that had happened between then and now. "It wasn't your fault." Though it was. It had _all_ been his fault. Hadn't it? "Don't leave me ever again. I couldn't… we couldn't… we wouldn't be able to handle it again. We can't break like that again." She drew her arms tight around his waist, pressing herself close. Her heart stumbled in her chest.

He tilted her head up, revealing eyes blazing with emotion. With quiet determination, he said, "I promise I will never, _ever_ leave again, Maximum Ride. I swear it, on my life, on _your_ life, and on the lives of the flock. I will stay with you until the day I die."

Her mouth turned up in a smile as she pressed her lips to his.

This was it. What she had been searching for. This is what it felt like to love, and be loved in return. Heart swelling, fears slipping away, smiling so much it hurt; yet completely unable to stop. Feeling_ safe_, for the first time in her short life.

_How amazing is this?_

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

"Riley."

Pause.

"Riley, wake up."

Hand met shoulder, and the younger Kimmel lunged forward, fists clenching. Ready to tear apart anyone who _dared_ to lay a hand on her or her flo—

"We're here, Riles," Rachel announced, patted her sister's back as she slipped out of the car.

_Max_, she thought to herself, unbuckling. He had called her Max; Maximum. That was the name of a girl who went places. It was a strong, brave, take-no-prisoners name. Wasn't it her name?

Riley stepped out of the Sedan and slammed the door shut, jogging to catch up with her sister. She reached up to brush a loose strand of hair away, and was startled to find moisture. Her cheeks were wet—like she'd been crying. She swiped under her eyes, wiping away the trails of tears and the feelings that came with them.

As they stepped inside the chain restaurant, Rachel asked quietly, "Are you okay? You were muttering to yourself back there. Who's Fang?"

Riley stiffened, but didn't let her shock show on her face. As the pair approached the counter, she admitted, "I don't know."

Because she didn't know. Who _was_ this Fang, anyway? Merely a figment of her heavily-medicated imagination? But… she could almost picture him standing next to her, tense and eyeing everyone with an air of cool distrust. He'd have a hand on her shoulder, keeping her steady, keeping her focused on their mission. He'd have her back. He'd take a bullet for her, and she for him.

"Riles, what do you want?" Her elder sister's words snapped the youngest Kimmel back to the present. Her eyes scanned the menu, then she stepped forward and said to the cashier,

"I'll take three double deluxe cheeseburgers, two large fries, a large milkshake, and a large drink."

Rachel winced as she drew out her credit card. While the Kimmel's were all used to their youngest member's… _unusual_ dietary habits, their pocketbooks tended to suffer for it. The stunned cashier handed over the barrel of a soda cup, and Riley snatched it and went over to the soda fountain to fill it up.

Rachel watched her little sister as she paid for their lunch. _Little Riley Elizabeth._ With her shoulders back, eyes alert, chin up, back straight for the first time in a long, long while. What _had_ that dream been about, for the resulting Riley to show such uncommon confidence?

Rachel had been very worried for her sister while she was asleep, because, during that time, tears were streaming down her face. And Riley never, ever cried in her sleep. Not even when she was an infant.

What could have _possibly_ affected her sister like that? For, whatever it was, Rachel had the sinking feeling that this wasn't the end of it.

Not by a long shot.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**A/N: **So, what do you think of this chapter? I haven't added much to it, merely switched around a few words here or there to they flowed smoothly. But I really like it. (Though the next one is one of my favorites.) Haha, it will take our favorite feathered couple _quite_ a while until… well, I just can't tell you, now can I? But I can assure you that there IS a tiny bit (a_ really_ tiny bit) of Fax in this story. Also, in one of the future chapters Max loses her head and goes all ape-s*** crazy on Fang. It's awesome. :D

What's your fist impression of Rachel? She won't be so totally prominent throughout the whole story, but she's still Riley's family.

And I know I'll be getting grief for how very un-Max-like Riley is. I know, I know, people. But she's _supposed_ to be that way. Don't worry, you'll have your Max back by the end of the story. I actually worked really hard to pull it off, but I'm very proud of how the last chapter turned out.

So, got any questions for me, yet? If you're still wondering about Angel/Izzy, Gazzy/Mike, and Iggy/Aiden, they'll be back in Chapter 13. Once again, I recommend you read these in order because there is a _lot_ that happens in the second half of this story. Any comments? Wish I would just shut up with this questions/comments spiel? Reviews are wonderful places to say so. ;)

Your faithful author,

Lea


	15. 12: Lacking Control

**There are a few bad curses in this chapter, but not anything so awful that you'll have to wash out your ears with soap. Hopefully not, at least.**

**The theme song for this chapter is "Barely Breathing" by Duncan Sheik.**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Incredible**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Chapter Twelve: Lacking Control**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

_With a sarcastic little laugh, he thought, _Yeah, right.

**Saturday, November 20****th****, 2010**

It was early, the sun had yet to fully emerge from the horizon, and most of the world was asleep. On a quiet little street in a quiet little town, two people were bustling around, packing up and stuffing supplies and provisions into a big black Chevy.

Really, though, only one of them was doing the hustling and the bustling.

"You have your medications?" Ms. Dinardo asked her son, raising an eyebrow.

"_Yes_, Mom." Her son barely suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

"Your suitcase is in there, right? You have enough outfits, enough underwear and socks?"

"Mom," Owen chuckled lightly, his hands in his pockets as he leaned against his truck. His mother stood at the passenger door, wringing her hands in her anxiety. "I'm not three. I can count to seven plus a spare. Or…" he gave her a mischievous, teasing grin, "I could always just, you know, _mail_ my dirty clothes home for you to wash. You'll be all alone here; you'll need something to do that will remind you of me."

Ms. Dinardo stuck out her arm and whapped her son on the shoulder. "You smart alec." But there was a laugh in her eyes, too. "Be careful," she said in a wholly different, gentle tone. "_Please_. And just _try_ to get along with your father. He really does want to get to know you."

The seventeen-year-old nodded stiffly, and remained statue-still as his mother gave him a quick hug. "You know that I do love you, right Owen?"

"Yeah," he replied softly, into her hair, finally snaking his arms around her to give his mother a quick hug back. "I love you, too," he admitted a little grudgingly.

She pulled back with a smile on her face. "Go on, get out of here. I'd like you to get as close to Dallas as possible before you have to turn in for the night. And you won't be out later than ten o'clock, got it?"

"Got it." Owen gave a quick salute and loped around the Chevy, hiking into the driver's seat and gunning the engine. When the reliable truck roared to life, he shot a quick half-smile to his mother, who now stood on the porch, her arms wrapped tight around her waist.

"Be careful!" she called as he backed out of the driveway.

"I will!"

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

"Bye, Mom."

"Just remember, Owen, if you—"

"_Bye_, Mom."

Ms. Dinardo huffed into the phone. "Good-bye, Owen. Be safe."

"I will." And with that, he hung up on his mother. _Let's see how she likes it_. He still couldn't help himself in holding that petty grudge.

That was call number seven. Fourteen hours on the road. For fourteen hours he'd been stuck in the same vehicle.

_Fourteen hours._

Normally, he'd have stopped every ten minutes. Normally, he wouldn't be able to take it. But today… Today felt _different_, somehow. He wasn't the only one who felt like he was suffocating today. And that was just enough to keep him going.

Though the wind blowing in his face and the music blasting from the radio certainly helped to distract him from his nerves.

Suddenly, his cell phone buzzed in the cup holder. Owen snapped it up, propelling it to his ear without a second glance. What did his mother want this time?

"Shoot."

"Um… Isaac?"

The seventeen-year-old nearly lost control of the truck. His heart was definitely going to pound right out of his chest.

_No... it couldn't be._

That was _her_ voice. The blonde girl's, from his dreams of freedom and flying. _This is her voice!_

_Holy _shit!

He wasn't crazy.

That revelation was enough to snap him to his senses. For instance, he was driving at seventy miles an hour. On a two-lane highway. In the Middle of Nowhere, USA. He was going to crash his pickup into a ditch and no one would know. Taking two deep breaths, he pulled over and killed the engine.

"Isaac? Are you there?" Her beautiful voice sounded doubtful, worried. Was she going to hang up?

Owen shook his head—she _couldn't_ do that to him—immediately saying the first thing that came to mind. "No, this is Owen." _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

"Oh, you're one of Isaac's doctor buddies, right?" She sounded relieved, but there was something else… "Is he there?"

"Who is this?"

"Riley. I'm Rose's sister. Is Rose or Isaac home?"

The young man frowned. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said honestly. She probably dialed the wrong number, but he wasn't going to tell her that.

"Isn't this 555-3264?"

_How did she get my number?_

Owen replied with a slow, "Yeah."

"555-3264?" This was a different female voice—older, slightly criticizing—in the background. "Rose's home number is 555-3462, remember?"

"Oh."

She couldn't disguise her crippling disappointment. Owen could picture her biting into her bottom lip, her beautiful eyebrows drawn together. "I'm sorry," she whispered into the phone. "Wrong numb—"

"No!" The word burst through his lips before he could think it through.

"Sorry?"

"Don't hang up just yet." _Idiot!_

"Okay," she said softly.

"Um…"

"Give me a second." Pause. Shoes slapped across wood floor. A door chimed open, slammed shut. Shoes on concrete, asphalt. The unlocking of a car, the opening and slamming of a door. "Yeah?" She sounded out of breath. It didn't even make sense, she was only _walking_.

"Well…" Owen was stunned. Where was he supposed to go from here? He had no idea. He didn't even know _why_ he didn't let her hang up. But she couldn't. _He_ couldn't let her go. Not this time. Not again.

Suddenly, a choking sob echoed through the phone.

His heart constricted. Was she hurt? Did someone hurt her? _I'll rip them apart, the bastards…_ "Are you all right?"

An awed little whisper: "Dear God, I can't believe it's you."

"Max."

It was the first word that popped in his head. The one that meant freedom and choice and life and love and _her_. She called herself Riley, but Max was _her name_.

Then came her reply, one terrified, elated little word; the last word he ever expected to hear. As shocking as his admission had been, hers was easily ten times that. Because that word…

That _single_ word could quite possibly bring his world to its knees.

"_Fang._"

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

"Riley." Rachel turned from the motel desk as the manager went in back to get their key. "Call up Rose and tell her we'll be there tomorrow. It's going to storm soon, and I have a feeling we won't get coverage for much longer."

"M'kay." Riley nodded, reclining against the wall. _Finally._ It was almost a relief to be done, to be able to _breathe_ again. She dialed up the number. They'd been driving all day, and all she wanted to do now was collapse. Travel was _exhausting_.

A smooth, deep, and… _familiar_ voice bubbled from her ancient cell phone speakers. "Shoot."

Riley almost dropped her cell.

_It can't be… no, it _isn't_. It's impossible._

The young woman blinked, white-knuckling the phone to her ear. "Um… Isaac?" _Please, oh please…_

There came a fumble. Whoever was on the other line seemed to be holding their breath. Maybe it _wasn't_ him after all. Riley blinked away her sudden, immediate nausea. _It just _has_ to be him_. "Isaac? Are you there?"

"No, this is Owen."

The seventeen-year-old fought the swell of her heart. _Owen!_ This was him. This was his voice. _Dear God, he's real!_ But… how does he know her sister? _Damnit, he knows my sister!_ "Oh, you're one of Isaac's doctor buddies, right? Is he there?"

"Who is this?"

Her heart plummeted—_He doesn't know who I am…_—but she wouldn't… no, she _couldn't_ let it show in her voice.

"Riley. I'm Rose's sister. Is Rose or Isaac home?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

_He doesn't remember…_

Before she knew what had happened, she had fallen to the floor. Her knees just couldn't support her anymore. He didn't know… he didn't feel anything…

But… wasn't this her sister's house? "Isn't this 555-3264?" She had dialed the number right. She _knew_ it was the correct number.

"Yeah…"

"555-3264?" As the manager came out with their room key, Rachel accepted, only to spin around and frown at her sister. "Rose's home number is 555-3462, remember?"

"Oh." Riley's face crumpled. Owen didn't know Isaac. He didn't know Rose. _I'll never see him. I'm always going be alone._ How unbidden that thought was, how unexpected. But how surprisingly, terrifyingly true.

"I'm sorry," she muttered into the phone, tears pricking her eyes. She bit hard into her lip. "Wrong numb—"

"No!"

His outburst cut her off. She sniffled, swiping at her hot eyes. "Sorry?"

"Don't hang up just yet." Was that desperation in his voice? _Dear God, please let him know me, too_.

"Okay." Despite the tears, the sting in her throat, Riley found the corners of her mouth turning up.

"Um…"

"Give me a second." Strangely level-headed, she climbed to her feet and walked swiftly outside and back to the Sedan. In a moment, the young woman was sitting in the passenger seat with her knees pulled up to her chest.

"Well…"

_That voice_… she fought herself not to sigh aloud. This was his _voice_. There was no denying it. This was what he sounded like, in real life. He really existed, and… she'd never get to meet him. Her heart squeezed painfully, and Riley choked out a sob. _Why does this always happen to me?_

"Are you all right?" He sounded venomous. Like he was ready to tear someone apart to save her, like he'd take a bullet for her.

_Like he knew the girl named Maximum Ride._ "Dear God, I can't believe it's you." The words sounded muted and cottony in her ears. She didn't even know she spoke them aloud.

"Max."

Riley's heart stopped. She couldn't breathe.

_Holy shit._

And, in response to that miraculous revelation, Riley uttered the one word that had been tumbling around her head her whole life, the _only_ word that meant anything to her. The only word that _mattered_, period. The one word that meant everything important, everything she was, everything she could be. Riley opened her mouth, inhaled, and breathed,

"_Fang._"

Then the big, black clouds rolled in, and her cell phone lost its signal…

and dropped the call.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**A/N: **A show of hands, who's furious with me right now? Anyone, no one? C'mon, you guys have to be even a _little_ mad that I didn't give you Fax! (Trust me, I wanted to give it to you, but… this just isn't the time. You'll have your Fax soon, though, don't worry. ;) )

I did give you something, though! I gave you that little scene in the beginning, which wasn't there in the beginning originally. (I'm awesome, I know, I know.) See how civil Owen can be for his mother? He makes her so proud. :)

Guess who is coming back next chapter! Angel, Gazzy, and Iggy! Yay! *dances in a little circle*

*sigh* I'm very, very happy to be back in the game. It's getting very easy to just sit down and edit three or four chapters at a time. But going through and adding stuff, that's harder, actually. It's the fresh, new chapters that I need to write that scare me. But this stuff is fun. (It's also very safe.)

So, once again, questions, comments, and any random facts you wish to submit must be given in the form of a review. If you wish to review, please click the little button… below!

Your faithful author,

Lea


	16. 13: Rush

**When you reach the part in all italics (don't ask questions now, you'll understand soon enough), each line is a new individual. No one is represented twice, and most of them (save the last two) are irrelevant.**

**The theme song for this chapter is "A Thousand Faces" by Creed.**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Incredible**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Chapter Thirteen: Rush**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

_Izzy stiffened. In a half-awed, half-scared whisper, she said, "How do you know that?"_

**Saturday, November 20****th****, 2010**

"Mom, can I ride my bike down to the Wallace's house?"

Mrs. Conroy sat at her desk, typing away. She barely glanced up at her daughter. "Have Mike go with you."

Izzy nodded, backing out of her mother's office and shutting the door with a tiny _click_. For once, she was actually thankful that they moved to the suburbs; everything was so close. Even the Wallace's, with thirteen in their household, were within biking distance. The youngest Conroy jogged into the living room, where her brother sat watching television.

"Mike, can you take me to Haley's? She asked me to come over this afternoon. Her parents are going shopping, and for some reason she was really excited about it."

Mike flicked his eyes up at Izzy. She stood bouncing on her heels, hands clasped behind her back. Her blue eyes were soft but eager as she grinned at her brother appealingly. "Please?"

The twelve-year-old sighed, standing and stretching his arms up towards the sky. Truth be told, he enjoyed it at the Wallace's. Their crowded, boisterous house felt more like a home than the Conroy's dingy, quiet split-level. "Hey, Mom!" he called down the hall and into the study. "Izzy and I are going to the Wallace's!"

"Be back by dinner time!"

Mike shot his little sister a grin. "What are you waiting for, Izzy? Let's go!"

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

"Race you!"

"No way!"

"I'm gonna win!"

"Not on my watch!"

The brother and sister sped through the neighborhood, cutting through intersections and around corners, over the uneven landscape.

"Hill!" Mike called back to Izzy, who had fallen behind. Both were beaming and breathing heavily.

"Yes!" the sister exclaimed, pumping a fist in the air. Her brother laughed, pedaling faster, faster, faster.

Both children couldn't contain their joy. Despite the physical pain, they just loved bike riding. The wind whistling past their ears, thrusting their hair away from their faces. The rush of adrenaline as they _zoomed_ down the street. They felt… powerful, free, and totally _awesome_.

"_Wooohooo!_" Mike exclaimed, throwing his arms out as his bike pitched down the hill. _This is what flying feels like!_

"Careful, Mike!" Izzy called from behind, a warning tone in her light voice.

At the bottom of the steep hill, the street took a sharp turn to the left. Mike was in line to crash into the fire hydrant straight ahead.

"I know, I know!" The brother's voice was whisked back to his sister, and he grabbed the handle bars once more, easily making the narrow turn even though he was going nearly thirty miles an hour.

Izzy laughed, feeling just so _free_. She braked as the slope bottomed out, taking the turn at a more moderate speed. The Wallace's house was straight ahead, at the end of the cul-de-sac. Mike was already there, taking his victory laps.

"I _won!_" he exclaimed with a triumphant laugh, pulling into the Wallace's driveway and throwing his navy blue bike into the grass. His sister came up next, propping her grass-green bike up against a tree, as she had slightly more respect for her bike than her brother did for his. They tossed their helmets at the base of the tree and raced up to the front porch.

Izzy was the one who slapped at the doorbell. "Ha!" she cried, shoving her finger in her brother's face. Mike just threw his head back and laughed.

The seven-year-olds Ben and Jill pushed the door open. "Hi, Izzy! Hi, Mike!" the two exclaimed in unisen, beaming.

Brown-eyed Jill bubbled, "Mr. Andy and Ms. Di went shopping!"

Ben nodded enthusiastically, his grey eyes sparkling. "Aiden's out back!"

The two Conroys were herded through the house and into the backyard, where the rest of the Wallace kids had been assembled on the grass.

"Hey!" Dave called, patting an empty spot next to him. Mike plopped down next to his friend, while Izzy sat beside Haley.

"I feel like we're at an assembly or something," Izzy admitted. "What's going on?"

Haley's eyes sparkled. "Aiden's having a good day, so he's gonna set off some fireworks he made!"

Just as the girl said this, Mike was scrambling to his feet and jogging out to Aiden, who crouched in the middle of the acre of grass, thirty yards away from the gaggle of children.

"You make fireworks?"

Aiden's head snapped up. He'd recognized Mike's voice. "Yeah." The young man couldn't help but grin. "Do you want to help?"

"Sure!"

"Hey Izzy?" Haley tapped her friend on the shoulder. "You okay?"

The blonde girl nodded, though her face was contorted in pain. She pressed her fingers up to her aching temples.

"Is something wrong, Izzy?" Sarah crouched down next to the younger girl.

"Headache," she moaned, her eyes squeezed shut.

—_what's going on what is wrong with Izzy why does she have a headache—_

—_is Izzy okay should I call home god why did we have to do this when Andrew and Diana aren't home—_

—_what is Aiden's firework going to do now—_

—_I hope this doesn't take too long I hope Mr. and Mrs. Wallace don't get too mad I hope we can clean it all up like we could last time—_

—_I could really use some popcorn—_

—_this is so awesome I love when Aiden makes fireworks—_

—_we should really get some food this would be more fun with chips—_

—_what are Andrew and Diana going to bring back from the store I hope they have cookies or salami—_

—_Aiden's making fireworks Aiden's making fireworks Aiden's making fireworks—_

—_this is really just cutting into my study time I have a report due next week what should I write it on—_

—_just like that one time with Iggy when we—_

—_reminds me so much of the Gasman._

Tears were streaming down Izzy's face. _Too many voices!_ She had missed her medicine, that was the problem. She forgot to tell her mom that she ran out, and now the voices _wouldn't go away!_

"Izzy!" Mike clutched his sister's hand and squeezed tight. _Oh no what's wrong did she take her medicine is she okay what am I going to tell Mom oh no oh no oh no_

"_STOP!_" the writhing blonde girl bellowed. "Just, _stop!_"

Then two strong arms were hoisting her up, carrying her back inside.

A soft, concerned voice came from just above her ear. "Angel?"

The girl sniffed, still squeezing her head to keep it from bursting. "Iggy, it hurts. They're thinking too loud."

"Just pull out of their heads, Ange." Her brother's voice this time. It was soothing, calm. "C'mon. You can do it."

Izzy frowned, her eyes still squeezed shut. When she concentrated, she could feel each individual conscience on the property; the ten Wallace kids gathered in the backyard, Aiden carrying her, and Mike, who had fallowed them and now stood in the doorway of the living room. Ever-so-slowly, she pulled out of the twelve minds of her brother and the Wallace's. _Finally. Peace at last_.

"Thanks, Iggy," Izzy whispered, opening her eyes as she was set down on the living room couch. "Thanks, Gazzy."

Aiden smiled, brushing back her hair, and replied, "No problem, Ange."

Then the three birdkids gave a collective gasp.

"_Iggy!_"

"_Gazzy!_"

"_Angel!_"

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**A/N: **Haha, how do you like _that_? Less confused about the italics part, now? I'm betting you know who those two last lines belong to. *wink wink* So, what are your thoughts on this chapter? I didn't change too much with it, mainly just picked out the parts I didn't like flow-wise and changed them a bit.

My writing style is _slightly_ different now, after tackling NaNoWriMo and writing in the long, loping style of my main character and narrator. (It was first person in the present tense, the opposite of this.) But hopefully that makes for an easier read when it transitions to this story. I've noticed that a lot of my sentences here are choppy and fragments, which I'm training myself not to use. Fragments popped up in the one big English paper we had this semester, and it dropped me a whole letter grade. So I'mma try my hardest to kind of eliminate them. Though… I'll probably still use fragments anyway. ;)

Woah, sorry, way off topic there! Ehh, and this is getting pretty long, so I'll wrap this up and be off!

Guess what? We're about half-way through the story now, since the very last chapter is kind of a cop-out, originally designed to aggravate, but in reality served to confuse my readers.

Well, if you've got any questions or comments or random facts, you know what do to! Click that little button below and give me a review!

Dear God. I just rhymed. *face palm* It was _so cheesy_, too.

Your faithful author,

Lea


	17. 14: Unstable

**The theme song for this chapter is "Careful" by Paramore.**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Incredible**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Chapter Fourteen: Unstable**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

"_Hello, Ella, dear," the woman sneered, her voice just as icy as it had been before. "I am the Director. Welcome to the Institute for Higher Living."_

**Saturday, November 20****th****, 2010**

"Where are we going?" Ella said cautiously, following the Director down a long hallway. It wasn't like she really had a choice in the matter; they were flanked by those werewolf-models, and once again, the monsters were holding _guns_.

After the Director had stopped in on her first night there, Ella had been left in her cage for who knew how long. Tonight—or was it today?—she was finally being let out to stretch her legs.

"Why, to see your mother, of course," the woman sneered now, her stilettos clacking on the white tile.

Everything about the Institute was white. The walls, the floor, the ceiling, hell, even the _people_ were in long, white coats! Ella _hated_ it.

The Director stopped at a door labeled _Holding Lab 108_. She didn't knock—no need to, when you ran the place—she just threw the door open.

Yet another white room, with a white table and a woman in a white strapped to it, hooked up to all sorts of fluids and machines…

"Mom!" Ella rushed forward, clutching her mother's limp hand. "What did you do to her?" She couldn't fight the worry in her voice. She wanted to sound strong, indifferent, sarcastic. _Like her._ But the sight of her mother lying there, immobile and unresponsive… it _broke_ her.

"I didn't do anything," the Director stated dangerously, raising an eyebrow. "Blame Jeb for it. He chose the doctors who wrecked your mother."

"Who's Jeb?"

The Director gave a cruel smile. "Obviously they got something right."

A few scientists wandered in, clipboards at the ready. Their posture denied it, but their eyes were screaming their mutual anxiety at being here, in this room, with the very woman who could end their lives in the blink of an eye.

"Good morning, Ma'am," the woman in the lab coat with salt-and-pepper hair said cordially. "If you don't mind, we're here to run some diagnostics."

"Go ahead." The Director waved a hand, and the three doctors got to work.

Clutching at her mother's hand, Ella whispered, "Is she okay?"

"Heart rate is stable," answered one of the male doctors, this one with thinning grey hair, as he checked Dr. Martinez's pulse.

The other man, this one completely bald, frowned at one of the computer screens. "Her brain activity is off the charts."

The Director moved to his side, scanning the graph, and glanced back at Valencia. "Call a neurologist. And the head of the flock's project."

The scientist woman nodded, moving over speak quickly and quietly into the intercom.

Ella turned to the bald scientist. She didn't trust any of them as far as she could throw them—which, admittedly, wasn't very far at all—but she suspected they knew more about her mother's condition than she did. "Is that bad, her brain activity?"

"Not necessarily, it's just unexpected." The bald man kept frowning as he took notes. "Ma'am, her MRI scans…"

The Director turned back to the other screen. "What does this mean?"

Just then, two doctors—one lanky brown-haired man, and a short Asian woman—entered the room, a flustered tech at their heels. "The neurologists," the tech blurted breathlessly, clasping her hands behind her back.

"What seems to be the problem?" the woman asked, walking over to scan the images on the screen. "Oh, dear," she whispered in shock.

"What's going on?"

The doctors all turned to stare at a seething Ella. "What is wrong with my mother?" she repeated icily.

"Nothing is wrong, per say," the tall doctor replied. He adjusted his glasses carefully. "But take a look at these scans of her brain. See here?" He gestured to the mass of red and yellow that covered the brain screen. "The red and yellow indicate much more activity. Most humans would only have these areas appear red while at rest." He pointed out the spots with the base of his pen. "This, however, is very disturbing."

"What does it mean?"

The two neurologists exchanged a glance; a lifetime's worth of conversation was said in that one look. The woman replied, "We'll just have to wait and see."

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

"What happened?" Wren asked as soon as the Erasers locked the door to their holding room. She scooted over to Ella's side of her cage. Jay sat in the middle of his own crate, his eyes wide, curious, and concerned.

The sixteen-year-old didn't even hear her.

_They broke my mother. My mother thinks like a nine-year-old. My mother is a genius._

"Ella."

The talking dog was enough to jog the girl from her reverie.

"What happened?"

"My mom…" was all she managed before she burst into sobs. "What did they _do_ to her?"

Wren's face pinched, and she glanced at Total. Her skinny wrist squeezed through to enclose Ella's shaking fingers as the dog whispered, "They were using her as a test run."

Ella's head snapped up, her brown eyes flashing. "Huh?"

Total's own grey-brown eyes were red around the edges. "Ella, they wiped your mind. You don't remember _anything that matters_. They used your mother to test the procedure, so they wouldn't make a mistake on the… the…" His voice cracked, and the little black dog heaved a shuddering sigh, placing his head on his paws. Big, watery eyes gazed across the room at Ella. "Your sister. Her flock. _The_ flock. They were experiments, too. Like Wren. Like Jay. Ninety-eight percent human, two percent avian. They had wings, but they were made in a place called the School. Just like the Institute, only in Death Valley. They were created to save the world, Ella. Or, at least, your sister was." He sniffed, pawing at his nose.

"I don't believe you."

Wren had to squeeze her eyes shut before she burst into tears. "They saved my life. Three times." Her voice came out hoarse. "Total, Jay and I were created here. They busted us out. The youngest of the flock took Total in, and he became one of them. Jay and I were on our own for so long, but not long enough. Most of the other experiments didn't make it. I'm sure there were others who survived, but we all split up and I still can't be sure. Then the whitecoats got Jay and me and took us to Germany, where we were slated for extermination. But your sister came and _saved our lives_." Jay was nodding furiously. He had a faint grin on his face, the brilliant memory one of the only smile-worthy things in this hell house.

"Then… well, her boyfriend left, I guess." Wren gave a small shrug, barely moving her shoulders at all. "I'm not quite sure. He didn't tell me everything. But, he found us, starving and scrounging for food. Said he was building up a second flock of mutants. He took us in, taught us how to live. Then the whitecoats got us. I lost track of time, but I know my hair had grown an inch when they came in and took Fang out. He never came back, but we got Total instead." Her low voice had been growing increasingly softer. By the time she finished, her words were barely more than a breath of air.

Then Wren's eyes burst open, blazing with a new fury. She pulled Ella close, pressing her lips against the older girl's ear through the cold metal bars. "When Fang was with us, we made a plan to escape." Again, the words were barely there. "We just need the right moment to set it all into motion."

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

"Ella."

Wren's voice wormed its way into the fifteen-year-old's dreams. Total and Jay were sound asleep, the lights having been turned off hours ago. The teen shook herself awake. "Huh?"

"What _did_ they do to your mother?"

"They… they…" Ella struggled to find the right word. "They broke her brain. They tampered with too many memories, so she is confused all the time. This I know. Mom was never… right. But I never knew it was because _they_ messed with her. But… when they were 'fixing' her memories—I _know _they don't really mean fixing, but that's what they said—they accidentally unlocked some unused part of her brain. One of the whitecoats said humans only use… ten percent of our brain at any given time? Five percent?" Ella frowned, biting her lip. "I'm not sure. Anyway, Mom can use more than five times that, because of what they did to her. So she's a genius or something. When she woke up, they rolled in a whiteboard with this scary-looking math problem on it. They handed Mom a marker and told her to solve it. She just chewed on the marker and told them an answer that sounded like gibberish. She was _right_." Ella's hands clenched, and her gaze flicked up to Wren's in the nearly-nonexistent lighting.

The bird-girl blew out a long breath, her eyes getting a calculating look. "How could they have only found this out now?"

The sixteen-year-old shook her head. "They said the head, the one with every file and every record and every bit of research on the flock just disappeared, taking everything with him. He had a funny name, like Tree-batter, or something."

"Batchelder?" Wren breathed, her eyes growing wide. "Jeb _Batchelder_?"

The young Martinez nodded slowly. "Yeah. He vanished off the face of the earth or something. No one can find him. The Director is _pissed_."

"Oh, Ella." Wren's head fell into her hands. Her sigh was not one of condescendence, nor was it of relief. It was a sign of resignation, loss of will, of hopelessness and utter despair. It was a sign of someone who knew they were beat before they even began.

Because they knew they were completely, utterly doomed.

"Wren?" Ella just couldn't keep the last bit in. This was the part that scared her the most. This was the part that she kept replaying again and again inside her head.

"Yeah?"

"When they were taking me away, I heard one of the whitecoats say that, because of her intense brain activity, her lifespan was drastically shortened. My mom might not live to see Christmas."

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**A/N:** So, now you know what happened to the flock. To clear up any confusion: **Max is Riley**, **Fang is Owen**, **Iggy is Aiden**, **Nudge is Clara**, **Gazzy is Mike**, and **Angel is Izzy**. So, I might be using those names interchangeably from time to time, but mostly I'll be referring to everyone by their actual names (as in, not the ones the whitecoats assigned to them).

This chapter was pretty uneventful, really, but I got a lot explaining done, so that was good. The next few chapters will be exciting, though, considering Chapters 16, 17, 18, and 19 all happen within the same time frame. (It's freaky. But those four chapters were some of the hardest to write for this whole story.) And now, hopefully, you're a little less confused.

What do you think? Would you like some more answers? Think I need to explain some things better? Reviews are a wonderful way to tell me what I need to work on. ;) And I'm still taking any wacky, random facts you care to tell me.

Okay, normally I know what happens in the next chapter, but this time I have NO idea who's featured in Chapter 15. Hmm. I need to work on this. Let's find out together!

Your faithful author,

Lea


	18. 15: Fatal Flaws

**I stole a few quotes from School's Out Forever and used them in this chapter, only I changed the wording a bit. But you'll probably be able to guess what words weren't mine.**

**The theme song for this chapter is "Losing Grip" by Avril Lavigne.**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Incredible**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Chapter Fifteen: Fatal Flaws**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

_Then the big, black clouds rolled in, and her cell phone lost its signal…_

_and dropped the call._

**Sunday, November 21****st****, 2010**

"Rachel!"

"Rose!"

The two eldest Kimmel girls embraced in older sister's driveway. Rose pulled back, her eyes twinkling in excitement. "How was your drive?"

"Long," Rachel laughed, shaking her head. "It's so nice to see you again, Rose," she admitted with a grin.

Riley watched this exchange sullenly from the Sedan, her arms crossed over her chest. She felt… different, somehow. Ever since that phone call with Owen, she didn't want to sit by and take the crap her sisters were giving her. It was so _unlike_ herself, she realized. But she wasn't about to take crap from anyone. She could deal her _own_ crap just fine, thank you very much.

"Riley," her eldest sister called, giving the youngest Kimmel an admonishing look with her hands on her hips in a teacher-ly fashion. "Come on out here and say hello!"

The seventeen-year-old stiffened. She wasn't a _child._ Even so, she hauled herself and her duffle bag out of the silver Sedan. "Hey," she stated coolly, brushing past her sisters and into the house.

"Hey, Riley," came Isaac's voice from the dining room. He sat at the head of the table, typing away on his laptop. There was a tiny crease down his brow, and when he glanced up, his glasses slid down his nose. He gave his sister-in-law a warm smile all the same. "Long trip?"

See, _this_ was why she liked Isaac. He didn't treat her like a juvenile baby sister. To him she was her own person, and she wasn't hidden by anyone's shadow. He was also one of the few—if not the only—doctors she tolerated. And he wasn't even a true doctor. He worked at the University of Texas in Dallas.

"You have _no_ idea," Riley laughed, tossing her bag at the bottom of the stairs and leaning against the door jamb into the dining room. "I'm so glad to be out of there."

"I'll say," the man chuckled. His navy-blue eyes were drawn back to the computer screen, and his frown deepened. He snapped the laptop shut, clasping his hands together on the smooth wood.

Something in Riley made her zone in on his distressed expression. He looked the way she felt in that car; trapped, nervous, tense. "What's going on at work?" she asked, sitting down to his left.

"Just an…" the man struggled to find the right word, "an interesting debate in our department. You know I work with synthetic DNA—"

"To help people?"

"Precisely. Well, right now there are some people who say, instead of creating out own DNA, why don't we take it from other animals. Why don't we create these mutants who can withstand anything? Rumor has it, there was a company—a mega-multi-million-dollar corporation—that had _successfully_ made living, viable recombinant DNA life forms. But two years ago, all the rumors ceased. Then there was all this crazy stunt-stuff with these bird kids…"—he didn't notice as Riley froze, and her eyes hardened—"but it was leaked around the time Rose and I were married that those stunt shows were all smoke and mirrors. But these recombinant DNA rumors have just starting to get back up again, and it's caused some division within our ranks." Isaac heaved a sigh, running his long fingers through his reddish-brown hair. "It's just so complicated."

"What was the name of the company?" The teen sat straight and stiff. A part of her, way back in the nether regions of her mind, was screaming frantically, _I have to know, I have to know, I have to know!_

"Hmm?"

"What's the name of the company that… did this? Experimented on _innocent_ _children_?" _How come no one knows! It's so_ obvious! She wasn't aware that her voice was stony-cold. She wasn't aware that it was louder than necessary.

Isaac looked up. "I never said they experimented on children."

Her heart skipped a beat… and not in the good way. "It was implied."

The man sighed, brushing the comment away. He glanced around at the table, and plucked the empty candle holder from its spot in the center of the wood. After he tipped it over and glanced at the bottom, he showed it to Riley. "See that symbol?" He pointed it out. "Recognize it?"

_I know where this is going… Dear God, I know where this is going!_ Riley nodded. It was _everywhere_. Diapers, bottles, dishes, clothes, cars, bikes, everything. They all had that tiny symbol. By now, she was clenching and unclenching her fists, just itching to wrap them around a _whitecoat_'s neck.

Isaac tapped the symbol carved into the metal of the base of the candle holder. "This symbol is the registered trademark of a multinational, multifaceted conglomerate. It has its fingers in virtually every business there is. So, you _do _know the company, just by other names. But all together, it is called Itex."

_No, no, NO!_

He frowned, looking down at her hands. "Riley, are you okay?"

At his words, her nails had sunken into the wood. So when Riley looked down and saw how deep her nails were, she successfully surprised herself out of her anger. She plucked her hands out of the wood, leaving ten perfect crescent-shaped indents in their wake.

"Sorry…" she muttered, scrambling to her feet. "Um, Isaac? I... need a break."

As she fled from the room like the devil was on her tail, Isaac re-opened his computer. The website for the disbanded Coalition to Stop the Madness blinked up at him. He didn't even need to scan the page for what he was searching for, because right under the title sat a picture of six beaming children and a little black dog. Six _winged_ children and one _winged_ dog. Though the lifelike feathers could have been easily photo-shopped in, that wasn't what worried him, what panicked him.

In the center of the photograph—with her arm thrown around the waist of a vaguely-happy, dark-haired boy—stood a confident, beaming, fierce-looking, blonde-haired, brown-eyed _Riley_.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

The two eldest Kimmel girls were out on the deck, swaying on the porch swing and sipping iced teas.

"So, how's the class this year?"

Rose smiled, adjusting her sunglasses. "Oh, they're really good kids. The group really meshes this year. I have another Wallace—"

"Really?" her younger sister laughed, already fully-informed about the gaggle of foster-siblings. "Goodness, how many of them are there?"

"They foster the long-term kids, who have mostly no where else to go. It's amazing, what Andrew and Diana do. And the kids are all so sweet, all eleven of them. I have Haley this year, one of the younger set." A smile tugged at the corners of Rose's heart. "She's just darling. We had a family more here from upper New York, and Haley's done a fabulous job including Izzy, the little girl. You know, and this is so strange, but Izzy almost reminds me of—"

"Where are Mom and Dad?" Riley poked her head out of the sliding glass doors, looking around the backyard. "I haven't seen them around." Her lips were pressed together in a thin line, but her eyes were excited.

"They're in the city," Rose yawned, unfazed by the sudden intrusion; a trait that came from being the eldest sister. "They got a place to spend the night. Mom says they booked a three-person room, so you can stay with them, if you want. We don't have enough beds, so you'd be stuck on the couch here."

"'Kay. But what are they _doing_ there?"

"Oh, you know," Rachel replied, sharing a knowing look with the teacher. "Doing the things parents do when their kids are all occupied." At Riley's look of horrified disgust, the grad student tilted her head back and laughed, Rose quickly joining in. "I was talking about _shopping!_ Get your mind out of the gutter, Riley!"

"Oh. Right." Riley shook her head, dispersing the mental images and remembering the reason she came out here in the first place. "That's good, I guess. That they're gone." She stepped back in, about to pull the door closed behind her.

"Wait!" Rose exclaimed. "Why is it good?"

Riley wrapped her arms around her waist, frowning at her older sisters. Before slamming the door shut, she announced stoically, "Becca's here."

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**A/N: **So, what do you think of Riley's older sisters? You haven't met Becca yet, but she's coming in the next chapter. But I'd like to get your full reactions to Rose and Rachel. Before I went through and edited, a lot of people liked Rachel more, which I find funny for no particular reason other than she's a very minor character. Really, not most of anyone's family will be features prominently in the sequel, Indescribable. But they're here now, so I can't really get rid of them.

Wait! I totally forgot about the first scene in this chapter. *evil laugh* So, what's your impression of Isaac? He's quite important in this story, too. It's kind of funny how, if you drew out one giant web of characters in this story, everyone would be connected in some way or another to everyone else. Like, Rose is Angel's teacher (if you didn't catch that), and Isaac is a professor at UTD, where Danika(Nudge's friend)'s sister goes to college. And Becca is actually pretty prominent in the story, too, believe it or not. (You'll find out soon enough.)

And the next chapter begins the giant, four-chapter arc that I have titled "Collision Course." They're pretty good, I think. But I might actually be adding a chapter somewhere along the way, because I don't think we re-visit Angel, Gazzy, and Iggy until Chapter 20, which takes place on Monday. (So far, they're Sunday is kind of a mystery.) Maybe I'll take care of that.

Questions, comments, and random facts can all be given to me in a review!

Your faithful author,

Lea


	19. 16: Collision Course: Part One

**We actually take a step backwards in this chapter. This takes before Riley goes in to talk to her sisters in Chapter 15.**

**The theme song for this chapter is "Weird" by Hilary Duff.**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Incredible**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Chapter Sixteen: Collision Course: Part One**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

_As if she'd been crying, nonstop, in her sleep._

**Sunday, November 21****st****, 2010**

Clara and Danika skipped along the college campus sidewalk, arm-in-arm, while belting out their favorite song from their favorite musical. Ms. Hyatt followed behind, laughing to herself at their antics.

Clara: "In daylights!"

Danika: "In sunsets!"

Clara: "In midnights!"

Together: "In cups of coffee!"

The girls burst into giggles. "You know, Dani, you have a great voice," Clara admitted. It was true, too. Danika had always wanted to be a singer, and Clara was sure that, with a little coaching, she could be the next big thing.

The petite girl blushed crimson. "No, I'm not that good," she said, like she always did.

Ms. Hyatt called forward, "Don't get too far ahead, girls!"

"Okay, Mom!" her daughter responded, calling over her shoulder. To Clara, she scoffed, "My mother has no faith in us whatsoever."

The taller girl laughed. "No, we're not very trustworthy. Now, where are we going again?"

Danika frowned, thinking back to the conversation she had with her sister earlier that day, when they stopped to call while eating breakfast. Ms. Hyatt had insisted on spending a night in a motel, even though they were only two hours from Dallas. But both girls were ready to get out of the Suburban at that time, and Clara's back had been bothering her, so they didn't fight it.

"She said the Bio Lab building? Um… SLC, the Science Learning Center. That's it! She and her boyfriend both have classes there. They met when he helped her pick up her books." Danika's voice swooned, and before the girls knew it, they were both laughing.

"Aww, that's kind of adorable," Clara admitted. "I want to meet a nice guy," she muttered to herself. "Someone who can, like handle me in my awesomeness." She looked over at her friend, a joking glint in her eye.

"Girl, we _all_ know how awesome you are! The world isn't ready for Clara Bennet!"

It was supposed to be a light-hearted comment, one that would make her smile. But Clara felt herself frowning. _Was_ the world ready for her? Was she even supposed to be here? Was she some sort of freak, a mutant, unworthy of human interactions? Was she a _mistake_?

"I'm not a freak," she muttered, ripping her arm away stalking ahead. Her strides lengthened, stretching out, and soon she was sprinting forward. Clara had always been the faster one; she could run farther than anyone in all the gym classes she'd ever taken, and she never seemed to tire when the other kids did. The only thing that affected her speed was when she'd last taken her medicine, and how sore her back was when she ran. But she's just taken her does of pills no more than twenty minutes ago, so she was good for another few hours. Clara didn't once look back over her shoulder because she knew the Hyatt's were long gone by then, and she had no plans to stop running any time soon.

The wind whipping around her hair pricked at the corners of her eyes, drawing up tears. She could barely read the signs of the passing buildings. But there it was, straight ahead, in big, blocky letters: _Science Learning Center_.

It occurred to her that she didn't even know where they were meeting Christie Ann. And if she tried to find her way around the building, there was no guarantee she'd meet back up with the Hyatts.

But Clara kept running, not even breathing hard, straight through the front doors and—_ CRASH!_

Papers went flying; bodies collided and tumbled to the ground.

"Crap. Are you okay?" a young woman's voice came from underneath Clara's sprawled form.

"Yeah," the fifteen-year-old scrambled to her feet, rubbing at her sore knee. The woman sitting up couldn't have been more than twenty. Her dark-brown hair was twisted into a sloppy bun at the nape of her neck, and her light-brown eyes frowned at the papers fluttering to the tile. "Oh my gosh, let me help!" Clara exclaimed as the young woman began to collect her folders.

"No, no, I'm fine," she said tiredly, but the girl was already running around, slipping the fallen papers into her arms. "Thank you."

Clara glanced up, a smile flickering across her features. "No problem," she replied, bending over to snatch a printed picture from the ground. As she scanned it, took it in, her eyes grew ever-wider and her jaw dropped to the floor. _Where did this come from? How did _she_ get it?_

"Is that everything?"

Clara's head snapped up, her mouth clicking closed. She surreptitiously folded up the picture, slipping it into her jeans pocket. "Yep," she replied, not permitting her shock to show on her face as she straightened the papers and handed them over.

The young woman stacked the two piles and with a grin, she prompted, "Thanks..."

"Clara."

"I'm Becca." The young woman nodded, her eyes narrowed slightly. "Now, if you don't mind my asking, do you go here?"

The girl blushed—she had always looked years older than she really was—and replied, "No, I'm a high school sophomore. My friend's sister is a senior here, though." Before the words had finished coming from her mouth, Ms. Hyatt and Danika burst through the doors.

"What happened?" Ms. Hyatt demanded.

Before Becca could say anything, Clara took a deep breath and stated swiftly, "I wasn't looking where I was going, and I crashed into Becca. Her papers went flying all over the place, so I helped to pick them up, because it was sort of my fault in the first place. Then you rushed in and now I'm telling you what happened!"

Danika let out a harsh burst of laughter. "Oh, girly. Remind me never to let you have caffeine!"

Clara, offended, whacked her friend on the shoulder. "I do _not_ talk that much! And besides, caffeine doesn't really affect me. It's so weird. Like, it takes me forever to wake up, but once I am I am wide-awake for the whole day. No one knows why." She shrugged.

Ms. Hyatt turned to Becca. "I am so sorry, these two are a handful." Danika and Clara gasped, indignant, while the young woman merely laughed.

"Naw, they're nothing. My kid sister was a handful, too, that's for sure." She waved the comment away. "Anyway," Becca glanced at her watch, "I should get going. Thank you Clara." And with that, she strolled out of the air conditioning and into the baking heat of Dallas, Texas.

"C'mon," Danika demanded, taking hold of her friend's arms and dragging her down the hallway. "Christie Ann should be getting out any minute."

The three wondered the building for a quarter of an hour, passing by the same doorway five times before it _finally _opened and the twenty-one- and twenty-two-year-olds filed out of the classroom. Christie Ann—a typical Hyatt with icy-blue eyes and ramrod-straight auburn hair—called out, rushing up to squeeze her sister and her mother in half.

"Of, it's so amazing to see you!" the young woman exclaimed. "And you, too, Clara!" She patted the fourteen-year-old's shoulder. "Hey, Marcus is waiting outside for us. I promised he'd get to meet my baby sister and her best friend!" Danika grimaced as her elder sister ruffled her hair.

"Who's Marcus?" Clara asked as they were led outside.

Danika rolled her eyes. "Marcus Alvarez is her amazing, hunky boyfriend majoring in bioengineering. He's all she can talk about."

"Not true!" Christie Ann called over her shoulder as she pushed open the doors on the opposite end of the building. Standing a little ways away with a messenger bag tossed over his shoulder was a young man. His black hair was cropped short, and his pale, hazel eyes lit up when they landed on the elder Hyatt.

"Marcus!" The young woman ran right up into her beau's arms, as if they hadn't seen each other in a year. "How are you?" Her eyes flashed with concern. "It must be really rough."

"I heard," Ms. Hyatt sighed and shook her head as she reached the couple. "And it isn't just here, either. Universities all over the country are having the same problems."

Marcus frowned. "It's not so bad for us, but the teachers are clearly making alliances."

"What's going on?" Danika asked as she and Clara came to a stop.

Christie Ann rolled her eyes. "Debates in the Bio department." Danika nodded, her confusion ended, while Clara's had only just begun.

"_What_ is going on?" she demanded.

"Do you remember the CSM? The Coalition to Stop the Madness?" Marcus asked. The fifteen-year-old shook her head, even as her chocolate-brown eyes widened in a burst of recognition. But Marcus nodded, as if he understood. "It was big for about a year, and then nothing," he acknowledged. "The CSM was this international, non-for-profit organization, similar to the Red Cross, and it was known for its… _different_ air shows. Instead of airplanes flying around, they had"—he chuckled—"_bird children_. Kids with real live _wings_. The CSM used these shows to basically attack this incredibly powerful multi-national corporation. And it worked for a little while. Then, about two years ago, it was leaked that the shows were all a giant sham, and then their leader supposedly dropped off the face of the Earth; the CSM was shut down after that. Now there are rumors that something _like_ the CSM and something _like_ Itex, the mega-corporation, are up and running again."

Clara nodded, only half listening. She was really fighting with herself to keep her hand away from her pocket. The girl was just _itching_ to take the picture out, to analyze it, to figure out _how_ it could possibly exist. _Surely _the picture had something to do with all this. The picture _couldn't_ just be a coincidence, because she couldn't remember that picture ever being taken. And she was _in_ it; two from the right with her arms tossed around the shoulders of two adorable blonde kids, a brother and a sister. They were all smiling and laughing at the camera, the six of them. The kids each with their own pair of folded-in, gorgeous, huge, _feathery wings_. The bird kids.

The bird kids from her dreams.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**A/N: **Hmm, this picture seems to be popping up quite a lot, doesn't it? Maybe… just maybe… it will be important. Maybe. (Just saying.)

Now, we're into the week heading up to the football game. There is _lots_ that is going to happen between now and then. But it's all starting to be a jump-start now. It's so exciting!

Yeah, I don't have a whole lot to say in reaction to this chapter because it's kind of the same stuff you learned before. So hopefully you're still satisfied?

Oh! You've met Becca! There, that's the really big thing that happened. :) So, hmm. I need to work with her a little bit more, because she just seems to pop up in random places. _Now_ I know what my random new chapter should be about.

Sorry, this A/N is an utter fail. I should leave before I embarrass myself further.

Questions, comments, and any random facts are greatly appreciated!

Your faithful author,

Lea


	20. 17: Collision Course: Part Two

**A few minor curses here. It actually used to be much worse, so be happy with the lack of terrible swears right now.**

**I stole some words from MAX. (I own the book, but not the rights to it.) I'm really just happy to have the book on my shelf. :)**

**The theme song for this chapter is "A Place for My Head" by Linkin Park.**

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**Incredible**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Chapter Seventeen: Collision Course: Part Two**

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_Riley wrapped her arms around her waist, frowning at her older sisters. Before slamming the door shut, she announced stoically, "Becca's here."_

**Sunday, November 21****st****, 2010**

The four Kimmel girls and Isaac were assembled around the dining room table, sipping at iced teas or iced coffees or soda, in Riley's case.

"How have you been, Bex?" Rose began stiffly.

She was wound tight, like a rubber band stretched just before its breaking point. She would have been happier, _should_ have been happier, had she not just found out that her younger sister and her husband had been corresponding via email for the past eight months. Becca had walked in with a stack of papers Isaac asked her to pick up from the university, much to the man's delight. Rose was left with an acidic feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"All right. I've had a couple different jobs, but I've stayed off the streets, kept myself fed. You know." Becca gave a cautious half-smile, testing the taught atmosphere.

Rachel gave an uneasy smile as well. She wasn't going to pick sides in this war. "That's wonderful, Becca! So, where have you been all this time?"

"Oh, all over." The young woman shrugged. "I've moved around a bit. I'm currently working for a business centered here, in Dallas, but my longest job was working at a ski resort in Colorado."

Riley's ears tuned in to the conversation at this point. "Where in Colorado?" _Colorado_. It rang clear, like a bell clanging around inside her chest.

"Up in the mountains, where there aren't a lot of people. It's just so… _peaceful_. You can't get that in Orlando." Becca sipped at her coffee, staring out at the abstract painting above Rachel's head. Suddenly, she straightened, sounding excited. "We didn't get many off days, but when we did, we always explored the area. But we went hiking one day, really far up in the mountains, wa-a-ay past where we normally stop. And guess what? _ We found a house_."

Riley stiffened, but forced her immediate alarm off her face. _Keep calm, idiot!_ "Oh, really?" she inquired curiously, sipping at her soda.

Her older sister nodded vigorously. "Yep. The only reason we found it was because we passed a demolition site of sorts. It looked like an old shack had been blown to pieces. From there we kept on walking, and that's when we saw the house at the top of a cliff. Standing there, at the bottom, was simply mind-blowing. At first we thought there were three houses, because we saw what looked like three buildings hanging over the canyon, each suspended by stilts. The cliff was absolute _hell_ to climb, but once we did, we saw that it was actually one house, kind of shaped like and E. The windows were all closed, but a couple curtains were wide-open, and the front door was unlocked. No one was around, so we went inside to check it out. It was completely abandoned; it looked like no one had been there for _years_. But it was like they all left in a hurry. Like, ancient breakfast dishes were still in the sink."

The seventeen-year-old felt her stomach drop to the floor. Blood pounded in her ears, and her heartbeat was going a mile a minute. She couldn't fight the deadly tone out of her voice. "You. Went. _In_?"

"Well, yeah." Becca blushed, frowning at her younger sister. "We knocked for five minutes before we tried the door handle and found it unlocked."

Riley wanted to yell, to scream, to lunge across the table and _demand_ just _what_ gave her sister a reason to think it could _possibly_ be okay for them to trespass onto _her_ property. Just _who_, exactly, did Rebecca think she was?

But she didn't do that. A bigger, much scarier question forced its way to the front of her mind, bounding out of her lips before she could do a thing to stop it. _If they went inside, then… Shit._ In a near-whisper, she practically pleaded, "The house was okay, wasn't it? Did it look like anyone had found it before you?"

Rebecca tilted her head, her eyes scanning her younger sister's stoic face and panicked eyes. "You sound like you were expecting there to be a break in." But she shook her head, the moment of confusion passing. "No. The place was… frozen. The only thing that changed was the layer of dust over everything. The kitchen was a biohazard, but the bedrooms were all fine. You know," her eyes glanced to Riley's face and then flitted down to her swirling coffee, "it was like a group of kids lived there. And I would have guessed they were all alone. But I can't, for the life of me, figure out how they could have gotten into that house. They had to have had _wings_ or something."

Rebecca looked up, her eyes panning over to her older sisters, only they weren't looking at her. Rose and Rachel were watching their youngest sister intently. She'd leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table, head squeezed between two white-knuckled hands.

Riley squeezed her eyes shut. Her head _hurt, Goddamnit!_ Normally, she'd get migraines when she forgot to take her medication, but this was different… Some part of her memory, some long-forgotten past, had ripped out of its bindings and was ramming down the door between her conscious and her subconscious. The pain exploded behind her eyes, and Riley knew without one drop of uncertainty that, if she didn't get out of the room _now,_ her brains would soon be splattered across the walls of her sister's home.

"You okay, Riles?" Rachel's voice was cautious, concerned.

"Headache," the youngest Kimmel strained to say calmly; even with her best efforts, her voice came out in a croak. She stood, her expression suddenly impassive. With fingers still pressed to her temples, she strolled through the room and right out the back door. Making her way calmly across the yard, the girl approached the ancient maple tree in the far corner. Muscles tensed, sneakers found purchase on the rough bark, and Riley was climbing up. Higher and higher, until she thought the branches would give. Then she stopped.

A low moan escaped her lips as a burst of white-hot pain flared up, shooting through her head like an arrow. She leaned back against the tree, squeezing at the bark. As chunks of it came off in her hands, rapid-fire images flashed across her vision.

A little blonde girl, hugging a winged teddy bear in a little tutu. A blue-eyed boy, a grin plastered across his mischievous features. A dark-skinned girl, her mouth wide open, as if she was speaking animatedly. A fiery-haired boy, his cloudy-blue eyes calculating as his smudged fingers twisted a handful of wires together. A brown-eyed woman, her eyes shining with pride as she held her arms open wide. A graying, blonde-haired man, wearing that imperial white coat that meant pain and loss and grief and tests and heartbreak and tiny, tiny cages. A dark-haired boy, his mask down; eyes uncharacteristically warm, a loving half-smile drifting across his features. Looking straight at her, seeing into her soul…

A tiny, ghost of a voice, saying, "_You know Fang is the best guy ever. And he loves you. 'Cause you're the best girl ever… Fang loves you…_"

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

"You're a dictator!"

Riley was startled awake by the furious shout of her sister. Her head still pounded, but at least it wasn't going to break apart any moment. God, her head… It felt like jello, wobbly and gross, and there was a horrible, acidic taste on her tongue. It didn't help that her sister and her father were _screaming_ at each other, either.

If only she could actually _remember_ those crazy images, then maybe that God-awful headache would actually have been _worth_ something.

The seventeen-year-old glanced back at the house. Light spilled out from the windows, streaking the darkness with artificial sun and fooling the grass into thinking it was still daytime. Inside, she could see Rebecca and her father, squaring off in the living room. It was probably a good thing that the leather couch sat between them.

Rebecca was yelling heatedly, her anger almost visible. "You think you can rule every aspect of my life! Well, guess what? I'm_ not a kid anymore!_ I can make my _own_ decisions!" The last word was a bellow.

Mr. Kimmel matched her words in volume and wrath. "You think you're so smart, don't you? You don't know anything about the world! You have _everything!_ But you gave it all up! You could have gone to _college!_ You could have passed any test they threw at you!"

"I'm through with those _Goddamn_ tests! I am _not_ your pawn to throw around! How long did you think you could _control_ every aspect of my _life!_"

"All we wanted for you was your safety! We gave you _everything_, and what did you do? You_ threw it away!_ You ran away when you didn't want to _work!_"

"You have no _right_ think that I _haven't_ been working my _ass_ off! I work harder than you _ever will!_ I've seen things you can't imagine! I've been to hell and back, and _you don't care!_"

"Don't care?" The father's voice dropped to a near-whisper, yet its intensity, its deadliness, only doubled. "I don't care? I don't care enough to give my wife's precious little niece _everything_ she could possibly want? I don't care enough to take her in, when no one else would? I don't care enough to put up with her _crazy-ass_, schizophrenic brain? I don't care enough to spend _hundreds of thousands_ of dollars on her? Yeah, you're expensive, sweet pea. Kids these days _don't_ come cheap. So don't you _dare_ say that I don't care!"

_WHAT?_ Riley nearly fell out of the tree. _No…_ It just wasn't possible. Her parents couldn't—no, they _wouldn't _have lied like that. Not about something that grave. But… _Niece?_ She'd caught her dad's slip up, and by the dead look to Becca's eyes, _she_ had, too.

"Niece," she choked on the word, as if she wanted to expel it from her system. "I'm your _niece_. I'm. Your. _NIECE!_" Rebecca shrieked, her fists coiling. "You lying _ASSHOLES!_ _All of you!_ How can I _EVER_ trust you again?" She stalked up to the couch, loathing blazing behind her eyes. She inhaled deeply and shouted, "I NEVER want to see you again for as long as I _LIVE!_"

Then she spun around and blasted out of the room. Less than a minute later—just long enough for her to grab her suitcase and dive into her car—the engine of the red convertible roared to life and four tires screeched in protest as Rebecca peeled out of the driveway.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**A/N: **I am not going to lie, I really had fun with this chapter. It might crack my top five. The first place is a tie between Chapters 12 and 22, but this one might be my third favorite. Anybody else with me?

So, Becca is pretty prominent in the story, and she'll only become more-so as we go along. Haha, and she's not Riley's sister. So… who is she, really? You should learn… next chapter, actually! Darn, I wanted to keep the suspense going. But that's okay. I've got another mystery character that you guys will (hopefully) NEVER see coming. I can't wait to get on with the sequel! Only a few more chapters left! I'm planning on finishing up maybe… this week, and getting everything posted soon. I want the first chapter of the sequel up by Christmas! And I still owe my wonderful Cookie Contest winners their sneak peeks… Ugh, so much to do!

Here's the deal: when you review or put me on your favorites/alerts lists, I get a little email. And when I get a little email, I become VERY happy and I am inspired to write faster. Sooo… review, and maybe I can crack down on some sequel butt?

Your faithful author,

Lea


	21. 18: Collision Course: Part Three

**There are a number of swears in this chapter. It's mainly all Becca, too. But she has a reason to be PO'd, don't you think?**

**The theme song for this chapter is "Heroes" by Shinedown.**

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**Incredible**

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Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Chapter Eighteen: Collision Course: Part Three**

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'_Then the big, black clouds rolled in, and her cell phone lost its signal…_

_and dropped the call.'_

**Sunday, November 21****st****, 2010**

Owen looked up at building before him, lit up by the night lights of Dallas, Texas. Somehow, when he pictured his father, the man was always a deadbeat, someone not worthy of his time. He was _definitely_ not a big-shot businessman who worked in a chrome-and-glass sky-scraper.

But apparently, a business man he was. Owen sighed, strolling forward through the big glass double-doors.

"Name?" the secretary asked at the front desk of the cavernous lobby. _Definitely three stories tall_, the teenager mused.

"Owen Dinardo," he told the secretary. She nodded, writing up a visitor's pass and handing it over. "Elevators are to your right."

He suppressed a groan. _Elevators_. Death traps designed by the sadistic mechanical engineers that enjoyed making him squirm—believe it or not, they _were_ out there. He hated how he always felt so…_ panicked_, as the doors slid shut. It would have been nice, for once, _not_ to worry about possible hyperventilation or a panic attack. Or, even… maybe… no. _But…_ Owen couldn't help but wish there was someone else who felt the same. Someone who got him, without having to say a word. Like that girl, the one from the phone.

_Sure_, and if he ever tried to call her again, she _wouldn't_ call the police. She'd smile and laugh and be happy to talk to him! Yeah,_ right_.

As the elevator doors slid closed, Owen instructed himself to breathe and his eyes squeezed shut off their own accord—it was a reflex, but it kept him sane. And, with his eyes closed, the sensation wasn't all that bad. He could almost picture himself shooting upward, propelled by his own dark wings.

Still, the chime as the elevator door slid open was probably the most welcome sound in the world, right up there with _her_ voice.

Owen walked into the tiny waiting area, complete with a single sofa and a gaudy vase sitting atop a stout end table. A receptionist sat behind the carved wood desk, clacking away on the keyboard. Her eyes flicked up to the young man; the clacking stopped.

"Owen Dinardo?" she asked, her eyes scanning his face. What ever she was looking for, she found lacking. Her eyes glazed over with confusion.

"Yeah," he sighed.

"Mr. Ashwood will be with you shortly. He is busy at the moment." The receptionist nodded to the couch. "Make yourself comfortable." With that, the clacking started up again, and the lobby fell into a tense quiet.

_Who could my father possibly be talking to at ten o'clock at night?_ Owen wondered. Who in their right mind would _schedule_ a meeting this late? Why would anyone _want_ to have a meeting this late?

The door into the office opened, and the end of the conversation slipped out.

"I just can't believe you." A young woman's voice filtered out, furious and distrustful. "I _don't_ believe you. How could you have _possibly_ known?"

A man—presumably his father—heaved an exhausted sigh. His voice caused Owen's stomach to clench angrily, as if this man was not one to be trusted. "I wish it were that easy. I'm sorry that you had to find out this way, Rebecca. You were honestly never supposed to know. You were safer when you didn't know, in fact. Your father wanted to keep you in the dark."

"You know my father?" It was a question, posed as a threatening statement.

"I can't tell you who he is, dear. But, yes, we are… close, you can say. Rebecca, he only wants your safety."

"Bullshit!" The young woman shouted. "He wanted to get rid of me, _that's_ what he wanted! You're all lying _bastards!_"

The man exhaled and said in a placated tone, "If it's any consolation, your sister didn't know." It sounded as though he was looking down, away from the young woman at the door.

"What?"

"Riley. Your younger sister. No one told her."

Owen sat straight, his gaze flitting to the receptionist—her mildly startled gaze flicked quickly back to the monitor. She appeared not to be interested in the conversation. But _he_ was, with that name bouncing around in his head. _Riley, Riley, Riley._ He leaned closer to the door, his gut aching in his absolute _need_ to hear more.

"How do you know this?"

"I keep in contact with your father, and he keeps in contact with your aunt."

"What about my mother?"

Another sigh, this one thick with remorse. "She's dead. Died giving birth to your brother."

"I have a _brother_?"

"No. He's dead, too." There was actual regret, palpable pain, in that voice. Owen's father had been close to this family, by the sound of it. But not the daughter, for some reason. The daughter who knew his Riley.

"What happened to him?" her voice was quiet, scared.

"He…" The man's voice cracked, petering out as he thought of the right words. "His body wasn't right, not normal. He couldn't… he just couldn't live any more. He was seven."

There was a pause. The figure, the young woman, standing in the doorway stiffened. "Lying asshole," she spat, her voice heavy with grief.

Then the door burst open, and the distraught young woman stalked out, her head held high through her pain. Her thick brown hair had given up on its bun, and now hung in angry strands around her face. Light-brown eyes—familiar brown eyes, though they weren't the right color—flashed dangerously as she spun and screamed, "In case it isn't obvious, _I QUIT!_"

Owen couldn't tell you exactly what it was, but something about her screamed familiarity. It could have been the slope of her jaw, the slight upturn of her nose, the wide-set of her eyes. But it was probably how she held herself as she stalked out; back straight, shoulders back, head held high. She cast him a glance as she walked by, a glance that said, _I'm pissed enough as it is. If you cross me, I _will_ retaliate. And you really wouldn't want that, now, would you?_

She reminded him of _her_. Of Riley. No, of _Max_.

Only when the elevator doors slid shut did Owen stand and walk over to the open office door. He knocked twice on the semi-opened door, poked his head into the room, and said, "Is this a bad time?"

The man sat with his elbows propped on his desk, his fingers part-way combed through his graying blonde hair. When he looked up, distraught blue eyes widened and he wiped the emotion clean off his face to replace it with a cool curiosity.

"Owen?" He cleared his throat to eliminate any last trace of the previous conversation. "Owen Dinardo?"

The young man nodded, his hands in his pockets. "You're my dad, I'm guessing." Though they looked nothing alike, though there were a thousand and one voices screaming in his head telling the seventeen-year-old not to trust that man, though every muscle wanted to wring his throat, Owen sat down in the empty chair across from his father.

The man at the desk cracked into a smile. "Owen. Boy, you've grown up."

"Mom sent pictures?"

"Yes." Mr. Ashwood straightened, digging through a drawer before pulling out two slips of laminated paper. Tickets. "For the football game on Thursday," he explained, pushing them across the desk. "I thought you'd enjoy it. It's the Cowboys against the Bears."

Owen had just been about to open his mouth and inform the businessman that he _didn't_ enjoy football at all. But… there was that pang of recognition in his chest; not as strong as when he had spoken with Riley, but strong enough that he took notice of it. "Cool." He reached over and picked up a ticket, smoothing his finger over their row and seat numbers. They'd be up close to the field, right under the stars. He wondered if the cheerleaders would be there, too. Owen laughed to himself, imagining a blind boy sitting next to him in that very stadium, begging him to describe the cheerleaders… and his amazing, wonderful, badass best friend, quietly seething in the other seat next to him.

Yeah, he could go to the football game.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**A/N: **Hmm. There's a lot going on in this chapter, I'll admit. (Really, though, you gotta love dramatic irony.) Sorry, I had a mini English-teacher moment there.

All righty, I've got a little contest for y'all (originally, this was worth cookies, but not any more). There are two characters in or mentioned in this chapter that are both cannon characters, original to James Patterson's Maximum Ride books. The first one has only been mentioned _once_ before this (in a _VERY_ early chapter) and the second stars in that SAME chapter, and again, that was the first and only time you've met him or her prior to today in this story. A quick hint: The two characters are the same gender.

The thing is, if you know this, it creates a whole bunch of other plot points that _will_ be utilized in the future. So I'd really like to see who can figure this out! Quite a few people got it the firs time around, but not everyone. (Well, everyone got the first character, but not the second.) I'll give you the answers next chapter, but I'd like you to really think about this!

But I am very excited. Owen's going to the football game! And _THAT_ is very exciting, folks. To get you all psyched up, the climax (the football game) covers the last three chapters, and all of them are longer than normal. The last chapter is definitely up there in my top five, too.

Well, I really need to get working on homework so I don't die at school tomorrow. Maybe you could give me a boost and leave an awesome review?

Your faithful author,

Lea


	22. 19: Collision Course: Part Four

**The theme song for this chapter is "Strip Me" by Natasha Bedingfield. **

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**Incredible**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Chapter Nineteen: Collision Course: Part Four**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

_Less than a minute later—just long enough for her to grab her suitcase and dive into her car—the engine of the red convertible roared to life, and four tires screeched in protest as Rebecca peeled out of the driveway._

**Sunday, November 21****st****, 2010**

_Niece…_

How could Rebecca _not_ be their sister? That confounded her the most. Out of all four girls, Riley and Rebecca had the most similarities. They were just _too_ much alike. Their face, their mannerisms, their voice.

She was analyzing everything now, every look, every word, every smile. Becca wasn't her sister? _WHAT?_

One image had been burned into her mind, and it was the first one she'd seen when she'd opened her eyes that night: Rebecca, standing in the middle of Rose's living room. She had a fighting stance; weight on the balls of her feet, knees bent, fists clenched, muscles taught. Her eyes burned with an intense hatred—an utter distrust—that Riley didn't know the young woman was capable of. But Becca still loathed her father with everything she was worth, even after two years. _How can I ever trust you again?_ Those were the words. Those penultimate parting words.

How _could _she trust them again? How _could_ they have kept a secret like this for _so long_? How _could_ they _all_ have kept that secret?

Because Rose and Rachel knew, too. They had confessed when their little sister had walked in through the back door, eyes thick with betrayal. _Her mother was sick,_ they'd said,_ and her father gave her to us. Told us not to tell her. It was to keep her safe._ That's what they'd said. _To keep her safe_.

Liars.

She hadn't spoken to any of them after that; it was her parents who decided that she should stay with them at the hotel. It was they who also decided that she was old enough to have her own room key—as if that revealing conversation had never taken place. So that was where Riley found herself as all the trust in the only family she'd ever known flitted out the door: waiting at the front desk of a hotel in the city as the manager went to retrieve a room key.

Her parents didn't meet her gaze as the key card passed hands down the line to her, nor as they all stepped away and walked up to the elevator.

"I'm not getting in."

"Sorry?" Mrs. Kimmel turned to scrutinize her daughter, her blue eyes mildly concerned.

Riley sighed, stuffing her hands into her pockets. _They never understand._ "It's an elevator. I'd really rather take the stairs," she explained drily

"Honey," her mother nearly laughed, "we're on the twenty-third floor."

The teen gave a lifeless nod. "I know."

Her parents shared a look of utter exhaustion. "All right. We'll meet you up there." Riley stepped back as her parents boarded the elevator, the door sliding shut noiselessly.

"I had so much fun today!"

The seventeen-year-old looked over her shoulder when she reached the door to the stairs, watching as a mother, her daughter—both with summer tans and auburn hair—and the daughter's friend—mocha-skinned with a head of untamed black curls—filed in, laughing in the way that best friends or sisters do.

_Be thankful_ your_ life isn't this shitty…_ Riley thought bitterly. _Some people just _had_ to have it easy, didn't they?_ Then recognition seized within her chest, hot and excited, and her eyes opened wide. _Dear God, I know her!_

_But… is it really her? Is she really that fast-talking, car-loving, computer-whiz? She can't be the Nudge Channel, can she?_ As soon the words popped into Riley's head, the dark-skinned girl looked up, and their gazed locked and held fast. Immediately the girl's hand went to her pocket, as if she wanted to pull something out. As if it was something important. Her travel companions took no notice as they approached the elevator doors.

The girl's mouth formed two words. The first was _Max_, which caused Riley's heart to leap into her throat, but the other made her beam. With that one word, memories came crashing back: Paris at sunset, the sky aflame with tongues of color; a castle wall crumbling in the midst of chaos; the split second of watching the _bane_ of her existence plummet to her inevitable doom, hovering side-by-side with that _girl_… until they had to catch the witch once more. It brought to mind a beautiful, blonde-haired, blue-eyed little girl. _My baby…_ The girl had a dog, a wise-cracking black Scottie reminiscent of Toto, from the Wizard of Oz. Then there was the big, hulking mistake; somehow a cross between a gorgeous man, a refrigerator-wolf, a ballerina-bird, and her seven-year-old half-brother. At that word, all thoughts of Rebecca, her parents, her sisters… it all just fled from her mind.

"Nudge," Riley breathed, the word rushing out in a blast of blind _relief_. The girl's eyebrows popped up, hiding underneath her bangs.

Though, when her guardian pressed the button to the elevators, she stiffened, getting yanked back to reality.

"Um, Ms. H? I really don't think I can take the elevator today. I mean, we all ready spent so much time in the car and I'm just so tired and I just couldn't handle it. So I think I'll just take the stairs, even though we're on a really high floor. Is that okay?" True to her name, the girl didn't take one breath.

Her friend giggled, as if she was used to these odd resquests. "Okay, we'll see you on the eleventh floor, Clara." Then, just like that, the auburn-haired mother and daughter were gone, having been whisked away in the metal death trap.

Clara shook her head, hugging herself close as she made her way over to the stairs. That older girl, the one who was so _familiar_ was gone now. Had she taken the stairs, too? She approached the door slowly, almost afraid. But… _Shouldn't I be happy?_ The teen bit into her lip thoughtfully as she pushed into the stairwell. _I should be thrilled, shouldn't I?_ She all but crashed into the lanky figure sitting on the bottom stair, cradling her blonde-haired head in her hands.

"Sorry!" Clara exclaimed, jumping back into the closing door. "I didn't see you!"

A pair of hostile brown eyes shot up, ready to kill. Then, the expression just melted away, like the girl had realized who Clara was, and didn't see her as a threat. "It's okay," the girl shook her head, an angry crease in between her furrowed eyebrows. _Nudge._ Her lips formed the word cautiously, as it trying it out, her eyes penetrating and demanding. Those eyes… Clara had seen those eyes before. She _knew_ those eyes. She could remember those eyes; happy and relaxed, stern and admonishing, cold and threatening, warm and loving. She's _lived_ with those eyes.

"Nudge…" The word merely slipped out, but it caused Clara's heart to constrict all the same. That's when it hit her. She remembered where she'd seen those eyes before. Her hand dove into her pocket, revealing a wrinkled piece of paper.

"Is this you?" Her voice shook along with her hands as she handed the paper over to the girl; the blonde-haired, brown-eyed bird-girl.

The girl stiffened, her eyes widening and her jaw dropping to the floor. A lean finger traced the smiling kids, lingering over the dark-haired boy with an arm around her waist. "Fang…" it was barely even a whisper. "Oh, God, Fang…" Tears pricked her eyes, but they didn't fall. The she set her jaw, and her eyes hardened. "Where did you get this picture?" she demanded, glaring up. "Who the _hell_ do you think you are to have this picture?"

Clara glared back fiercely. "That is _me_ right there." She jabbed at the photograph. "What I want to know is how the _hell_ you are in this picture! I don't remember it being taken, and I certainly don't remember _you_."

She was quiet for a moment, seemingly taken aback at the harsh comment. She glared furiously at the picture, at Clara, then back again. Then her anger cleared away. "The CSM," she stated definitively.

"Huh?" It sounded familiar, but the fourteen-year-old couldn't place where she'd heard it before…

"The CSM," the girl repeated, her expression final. "We took it for the CSM. My mother wanted us to. It was after… after…" She shook her head, her brow furrowing. "It was after something. Something important happened, and _damnit!_ I can't _remember_." Her fingers curled around her knees, almost tearing gashes into the denim.

Clara opened her mouth, but faltered. _How should I address her?_

The seventeen-year-old looked up, sensing the question. Her eyes flashed, almost as if… she was debating something. Then the flashing stopped, as if she'd made a snap decision. "Call me Max," she said with determination. "My name is Max."

"All right, Max, what's the CSM?" As soon as she asked it, the conversation with Marcus and Christie Ann flared at the front of her mind. What did Max and her mother and that _picture_ have to do with the CSM?

"It has to do with that thing. It was supposed to… help." Riley stiffened, her mind bringing her back to that moment, one that felt like a lifetime ago, when she was sitting with Isaac at the dining room table. "Shit. He knows." And then, "Itex."

Clara's blood ran cold. Images of needles and mazes and long, white lab coats and—she gulped— _Erasers_ bloomed behind her eyes. "They won't… they won't come for us, will they Max?" She couldn't go back there. Max wouldn't let that happen, would she? Max would keep her save, right? Wasn't that what Max did? But Clara _still couldn't remember!_

"No. They know better than that. They wouldn't mess with me." Though the words were quiet, they held confidence, certainty, and maybe even defiance. "They know they have hell yet to pay." Riley's head snapped up. "Nudge—"

"It's Clara, actually," the younger girl corrected, blushing slightly, while her heart screamed at her not to. _Why'd you say that? You're Nudge._ But she wasn't. She really had no idea what was going on, only that her name wasn't Nudge, and that, in the deepest, most secret recess of her heart, she liked being Clara, liked being normal.

"Right." Riley shook her head, as if clearing away a sudden thought. "Clara," she amended, the word feeling funny on her tongue, "we need to find these kids." She held out the picture with shaking fingers. "We need to be together." She refrained from saying the word "again."

Clara felt herself nodding vigorously, yanking out her cell phone. "Call me?"

The girls traded numbers, and Clara beamed as she typed Riley's into her contacts list. "You're number is 555-9464? Isn't that WING?"

Riley tilted her head back and laughed until tears pricked at her eyes. "You're 555-_TALK_, like you're one to make fun of me!"

The fourteen-year-old shook her head. "I wasn't making fun. It's just ironic, is all." Then her smile slipped away. "You don't live here, do you?"

Riley frowned. "No. We're only staying the week. Then it's back to Orlando."

"I'm from Chicago. We're driving up Friday morning. What if I don't see you again?"

"Then we'll just have to meet up before we leave." The young woman's eyes became hard, resolute. "How about Wednesday?"

Clara's mouth turned up into a grin. "Wednesday? I know the perfect place."

"Clara…" Riley knew that hungry, happy glint. She's seen it countless times before…

"Aw, c'mon, Max! Don't be such a twig in my wing!"

Riley sighed, giving in. She wouldn't fight that glint, not today. "Fine. At which shopping center of hell do you demand we meet?"

The fourteen-year-old beamed, rocking back onto her toes as her heart soared. "The North Park Mall, of course!"

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**A/N: **Would you like to know who the mystery characters were last chapter? I can tell you who one of them was, since everyone guessed correctly originally.

The first character was Jeb. Now, think about this for a moment. Do you know who the second character was now? (Hint, you should. Just go back and re-read the prologue if you're still confused. :) ) Now, you get to connect the dots and figure out exactly what this all implies. It's a pretty large plot point, and I'll be making quite a bit of use out of it in the future.

Ehh, I didn't really end up changing much in this chapter. I just mostly feel like I can't add anything to this story. I really want to get onto Indescribable because I feel like I owe it to you guys.

I really want to get this all finished up before Christmas. Expect some sporadic, late-night updates soon. :)

Your faithful author,

Lea


	23. 19 5: Lost and Found

**Here you go, an insufficient present. A brand, spanking new chapter. :) For all of my dedicated readers.**

**The theme song for this chapter is "Iris" by Goo Goo Dolls.**

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**Incredible**

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Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

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**Chapter Nineteen and a Half: Lost and Found**

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_Then the three birdkids gave a collective gasp._

"Iggy!_"_

"Gazzy!_"_

"Angel!_"_

**Monday, November 22****nd****, 2010**

Aiden sat pressed up against the wall of the foyer, sitting still in the cool shadows created by the stairs and the hallway leading to the mudroom and the garage. The clang of drawers opening and closing hurriedly echoed from the kitchen, and the trickle of laughter and excitement danced around him and pooled at his feet. The kids were in the kitchen, and by the sound of the exclamations of "Turkey!" and "Cheese" and "Pass the mustard, why don't you?" that they were making sandwiches.

He was about to get up and join the mayhem when two soft voices caught his attention. He followed the noise around one of the front windows to find two light, familiar voices and a gentle breeze slipping in from under the open window.

"Thanks for riding with me again, Gazzy," Izzy said, a smile in her voice.

_No, not Izzy. Angel. That was Angel's voice._ Aiden shook his head. _She's Angel_, he had to remind himself. It was so strange, the whole situation. He had absolutely no accessible memory of either of them—neither Izzy/Angel nor her brother, the Gasman/Mike—but that didn't change the fact that he was absolutely _positive_ he had met them before. He _knew_ them, like siblings. They were his family—more so than any of the Wallace's. They were apart of his _flock_.

A pair of feet hit asphalt, jarring Aiden from his musings, and a set of tires rolled up the driveway. There was a little metal _clang_ as, no doubt, she set up the kickstand for her bike. "Are you sure you don't want to stay?" Izzy continued, her voice changing to be more persuasive, a bit more pleading. "We're going to the park at school and everyone is making sandwiches."

_Ah-ha!_ Aiden smiled in triumph, for he was right in his assumption. Haley must have called over to the Conroy's house to see if Izzy was free. Neither one of the siblings talked much about their mom, but Aiden assumed that she wasn't the most attentive person. He'd have to get to the bottom of that soon, maybe even today.

"I'm not sure, Angel." Mike's voice came from a little farther away; hers was close to the window, as if she was standing on the walkway leading up to the house.

"But we're gonna swing, and play tag. And it's sandwiches; they have salami!" Aiden nearly laughed aloud at the convincing tone she was trying to pull off. He could only imagine the look on her face: those big, wide blue eyes that everyone said she had looking up at her brother with the saddest, most pleading expression Aiden had never seen.

There was a heavy, exasperated sigh, then came the defeated, "All right, Ange, I'll stay."

"Yay!" A pair of light feet trotted up the walkway, and Aiden hiked to his feet, jogging to the door just in time to open it wide as Izzy rang the doorbell.

"Oh!" was her little exclamation of surprise, but there was a smile in her voice all the same. She pushed open the creaky storm door and immediately wrapped her arms around the young man's torso. "Hiya, Iggy!" she said happily. "Aren't you helping make the sandwiches, too?" Her voice was directed upward, and Aiden chuckled. "Naw, I'm not really allowed in the kitchen much. Andrew and Diana don't want me to accidentally burn anything."

"But…" Mike's voice came from somewhere slightly behind and above his little sister's head. "Iggy, you're the only one of us we _trust_ to cook. Why don't they let you?"

"Iggy," Izzy said firmly, her voice directed upward to Aiden's ears, "you're coming with us to the park, right?"

"I… I guess so," said the young man with a shrug.

Then Izzy was dragging Aiden through the house, bouncing happily through the living room and into the kitchen. "Hey, everybody!" she said, her voice happy and excited.

"Hiya, Izzy!" Haley's light feet trotted up, and the nine-year-old's hand fell from Aiden' grasp as the girls began to talk, their voices blending in with the others'.

"What's up, Aiden?" Sarah's voice came from the other end of the kitchen, near the fridge. "Are you coming, too? What do you want on your sandwich?"

For the next twenty minutes, the kitchen was a massive assembly line as the Wallace's and their neighbors made enough sandwiches to feed an army. Boxes of crackers and bags of chips were pulled down from high shelves, and the top two were selected to be brought along. Juice pouches and water bottles were lined up into a cooler, blanketed by bags of ice cubes. The sandwiches were layered on top of this, and then it was only a matter of hauling the cooler into the back of the Wallace's minivan and finding enough seats for the six kids and their two supervisors.

The ride to the park was noisy and exciting, but for Aiden, the happy buzz in the air was worth the headache he'd have later that day.

Sarah pulled the minivan to a stop in the school parking lot, and the six children burst from the car like firecrackers, their feet slapping against the asphalt as they jumped around and raced to the playground. The sixteen-year-old laughed as she and Aiden climbed out of the car and made their way around to the back. "Good God, those kids are crazy. Are you okay, Aiden? They were sort of loud."

He nodded, standing back as Sarah opened the trunk. "I'm better now, thanks. But you get used to it. Home can get worse than that, actually." Aiden's hands found the handles on the cooler, and he carefully pulled it out and set it on the ground.

"Thanks," Sarah acknowledged, sounding somewhat relieved that she didn't have to take it out herself. She closed the trunk back up, locked the car, and began to pull the cooler along the pavement. The rolling wheels were a sufficient guide for Aiden to follow along. "Hey, Izzy," came Sarah's voice from up ahead. The cooler was jarred against what must have been the curb, so she pulled it up onto the grass. "What's up? Do you want your sandwich now? It's pretty early, though."

"I know," Izzy responded lightly, her weight shifting slightly in the grass. "I was wondering if I could ask Aiden something? It's about Mike's birthday."

The young man stiffened at this, knowing fully-well that Mike's birthday had _nothing_ to do with what she wanted to talk about. So he responded, "Okay, sure," and followed her light footsteps over to a bench.

"Do you need help thinking of presents for your brother?" Aiden asked pointedly.

Izzy replied with a soft, "No, no." Her hair brushed against her shoulders as she shook her head. "I just said that because no one is supposed to know that Gazzy and I know you."

_Is that true?_ Were they supposed to keep this quiet? Aiden wasn't completely sure, but he knew it would be nearly impossible to explain it to any _one_ of the Wallace's, let alone _all_ of them. "How do I know you, then?" he asked instead. "I feel like I grew up with you, Angel. I'm _sure_ I've actually lived with you. But I don't remember any of it."

Izzy gave a small sniffle, her voice cracking. "I don't either. I wish I did, but I just _don't_. But… maybe we should pretend, so people don't get confused?"

"Yeah, we should." The seventeen-year-old wrapped his arm around the little girl, squeezing her shoulder comfortingly. "I've only been here for two years, so we can pretend that... um… your cousins were… my neighbors… at one of my old foster homes."

She sniffed again, rubbing at her nose. "Okay, that sounds all right." Izzy wrapped her thin arms around his waist quickly before pulling away. "Iggy… I just wish…"

"I'll try to remember, Angel, I really will," he told her gently, because that's what she needed to hear. He wasn't lying though; he really wanted to know why he knew her and Mike so well, too.

Her voice perked up a bit. "I'll try, too, Iggy. I'll try to remember us, too. I just hope that… I just hope that _she_ finds us, too. I want_ her_ to come back, too."

As she trotted away and called her thanks, Sarah took the open spot on the bench. "Is she okay?" she asked, rolling the cooler to a stop.

"Yeah, she's fine," Aiden replied absentmindedly. "She just needs help finding a birthday present for her brother. We brainstormed a few ideas."

He felt her nod, but he wasn't really paying attention to his sister's reaction. He was still reeling from Izzy's seemingly innocent comment. _I want _her_ to come back, too._ The strangest thing was… Aiden thought he knew who she was talking about. _She_ was the brown-eyed girl he used to see in his dreams—those awful dreams in which he'd be trapped in a cage. She used to be in the cage next to him. She used to talk him through the awful pain, through those sickening experiments. She was always there, even when he came back from the failed experiment that had thrust him into infinite darkness. _Does Angel know her, too?_

Her hope haunted him, ringing in his ears like a lonely echo. _Will she ever be able to find us?_

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You know, I really think that this chapter does fill in some holes nicely. It's a good segway into the next little scene (which has become the next chapter, as I've switched Chapters 20 and 21 around. When you edit, all sorts of unexpected things happen!).

This is only the second time I've really done Aiden/Iggy's POV, but I do like it. It's a fun challenge, getting into his head. I want to say what everyone is doing, but Iggy doesn't really know, as he can't see it at all. So I go by sounds. (Thankfully, he does have raptor super-hearing, so his ears are better than a normal person's. Though I do think it would be fun to write as a true blind person without Iggy's advantages—personal GPS, super hearing, sensitive touch).

So, what do you think about this chapter? Is it any good? I hope you like it. To any old readers: does it clear up any questions I've left for you? (Seriously, though, if you have questions tell me now. I need to know what I have to clear up so I can fix it all for you!)

I plan on writing one more chapter to fill in a major blank spot in this story. (There's a random day where nothing happens at all. It's really wonky.) But the rest of it is just a quick read-through to fix any conflicting information.

See you guys soon with my next update!

Your faithful author,

Lea


	24. 20: Fiercely Protective

**Previously, this was Chapter 21. (I just did a little re-ordering so the dates would line up nicely.)**

**The theme song for this chapter is "All I Ever Wanted" by Shinedown.**

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**Incredible**

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Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Chapter Twenty: Fiercely Protective**

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_Her hope haunted him, ringing in his ears like a lonely echo. _Will she ever be able to find us?

**Monday, November 22****nd****, 2010**

"Thanks, Ig!" Izzy laughed, jogging away from Aiden to join Haley on the swings.

Dave gave her brother a strange look as they climbed up to sit on the monkey bars. "Your sister is really weird," he commented drily. Mike let out a quick, utterly fake, laugh.

"Yeah, she's strange," he lied. _But so am I_.

They couldn't tell anyone, they'd agreed on that much when they got home. But _what_ couldn't they tell? All Mike knew was that Aiden was like his big brother, and that he _wasn't_ born blind. He and his sister and Aiden were special, but how? Izzy—or Angel, as he was _sure_ she was called—could read minds. And he used to be able to mimic voices _perfectly_ before those doctors stuck him on medicine to keep his digestive track in line. But he's stopped taking those big, ugly pills the day of his sister's headache.

"Mike, can you push me?" Izzy called, sitting stationary on a swing. Next to her, Hayley was already pumping back and forth. Sarah and Aiden were sitting at a nearby bench, quietly supervising Ben and Jill as they traipsed the empty playground that lazy Monday morning.

The brother frowned over at his sister. "Can't you pump by yourself?"

"But Mike," Izzy implored, her eyes glittering, "I wanna go _high_."

Mike didn't question his sister's intentions as he climbed down to the woodchips, he already knew them. She was trying to bring back the memories, and—for some reason—the memories came back best when she was as close to flying as she could get.

Izzy grinned as Mike came up from behind her and gave a hearty push. She laughed as she cut through the air, feeling so light and strong and _free_. "Don't you miss is, Gazzy?" she murmured as she fell back.

_More than anything, Ange_, he thought sadly, though he didn't even know what he missed. He only knew that there was no other feeling like it in the world.

_Then c'mon!_

Mike stiffened, almost getting smacked in the face as Izzy swung back, giggling joyously. "I bet I can get higher than you!" she taunted, pushing hard off the ground.

"Oh _no_ you can't!" he countered, scrambling onto the swing on her other side, kicking at the woodchips to shoot off into the air.

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"Riley, I'd like to talk to you."

Rose had said that this morning on her cell phone, while idling in front of the hotel. She'd come to free her baby sister from the confining presence of their parents—one that was beginning to feel like a cage. So Riley—who wanted to neither spend any more time in the hotel, nor stay any longer with her untrustworthy parents—had agreed readily, hopping into the SUV and begging her sister to gun it.

This was how Riley found herself sitting shotgun with her older sister, driving out of the city and back to Cedar Hill. The radio had filled the silence for the longest time, but as soon as they passed the first tollbooth, Rose flipped it off.

"We didn't mean not to tell you," she began, looking straight at the road because that's the kind of person she was. Had they not been in the car, Riley knew for certain her sister would have met her gaze; she was merely a careful driver. "Or, at least I didn't mean it. Can't say for Mom or Dad. Who knows with them, really?" She sighed, her hands loosening slightly on the wheel. "Her mom was sick, awfully so. And her dad, Uncle Ben, couldn't take care of her. He said it was safer for everyone if she stayed away from him, from his job. Mom said when he'd left that he was muttering something like, 'Can't let them find her, I can't let them find out.' I'm not sure how true that was; it was so long ago. But we didn't hear from him for years after that. No letters, no phone calls, nothing. Then, when you were about seven, we got a letter. 'Becca has a little brother. Abigail died while in labor.' Something along those lines. I think Mom burned the letter. I mean, Aunt Abigail was her _sister_. But that was the last we heard from Uncle Ben. We all just tried to forget it, for your and Becca's sakes. I don't think Mom or Dad wanted you getting mixed up with him. He was always an odd kind of guy. He was a scientist, and he _really_ got into genetics."

"What was his name?" Riley said softly, looking out the window. Her stomach churned painfully as old memories tried to shift to the surface.

"Uncle Ben's?"

"No." The seventeen-year-old squeezed her eyes shut. "Becca's brother's."

"Oh, God." Rose's jaw set, and her brow furrowed in concentration. "Damn, I can't remember. I want to say it was short, sweet. And it started with and 'A.' Abe, Aiden, Alan, Adam—"

"Ari." Her eyes flew open and her stomach dropped to her toes.

"Yeah! That's it!" The eldest Kimmel smiled, and flicked her gaze over to her baby sister. She was startled to see the young woman's eyes watering.

Riley bit her lip and stared stoically ahead even as tears stung her eyes and her throat burned. She was so _close_ to making that connection, between that name and a little, blonde-haired boy and Rebecca and herself. They meant something, but _what_? Why did she have the feeling that she'd seen Ari die? That she'd held him in her arms? And _why_, dear Lord, did he remind her of Clara and that stupid _picture_?

"Riles, I need to swing by the elementary school on our way home. I forgot to pick up some papers that I need to grade. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, sure," she murmured, watching as the cars whipped by and wondering how the thought of Ari made her heart split in two.

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"I'll be right back," Rose announced as she pulled into the grade school parking lot. She glanced out at the playground, where a group of kids and two teenagers were spread out. A small smile formed on the teacher's lips. "Do you want to wait outside?"

"Yes." Riley scrambled out before anymore could be said. She leaned back against the SUV, sighing at the laughing children. She'd never had that, a gaggle of friends. She'd never been connected to people like that.

Rose locked up the car, and jogged inside. The honk of the lock caused a couple kids to glance in Riley's direction. One little boy held up a hand, and Riley smiled and waved back. There was something wonderful about being a child. You were so innocent and naïve, and in your mind, everyone was friendly.

"_I'm_ higher than _you_!"

"No, _I'm_ higher!"

A brother and a sister, swinging side-by-side, were challenging each other as they swung back and forth like opposite pendulums. Riley felt her smile grow wider at their familiar antics. She and her sisters used to be the same way.

Then she froze.

The golden-blonde hair, the clear, sky-blue eyes, the easy grins. She _knew_ those faces. She'd _raised_ those kids. She'd seen them at their worst, their best, and every time between.

_I _know_ them!_

The golden-haired girl looked out across the woodchips, her blue eyes meeting Riley's. Laughing blue eyes… young blue eyes… _wise_ blue eyes. She grinned, her eyes lighting up. One word tumbled out of Riley's mouth then. Compared to what she'd said to Owen, this was ten times as dangerous.

"Angel."

"Max!" the girl cried. She kicked off the ground, pushing fast into the air. This time, however, she didn't come back down with her swing. _No_. Instead, she flew through the air in a graceful, angelic arc… one that was headed straight for the woodchips.

"ANGEL!" Riley's cry exploded from her, and she ran forward. _No, no, NO!_ She extended the trajectory with her eyes, racing just—to—get—to—that—_girl!_

_I am _NOT_ going to let you get hurt again!_

Then two bodies going impossibly fast collided, and Riley collapsed on the woodchips, hugging a sobbing Izzy to her chest.

"Angel," Riley whispered, stroking the girl's hair and doing her utmost to hold back a sob. _Angel, Angel, Angel._

"Max! Max, oh, Max, I…" but the girl never finished. Her own sobs choked her words off, and the two girls were crying in each other's arms.

"Shh, shh, baby, it's okay. I'm here. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere." Riley blinked suddenly, a flash of pain ripping through her; though it was only the memory, the pain was nearly excruciating. She clenched her jaw and tightened her grip around Izzy. "We'll find them, Angel. Don't worry. We'll find them."_ And I know where one of them is…_

"Get away from her!" A pair of hands ripped Izzy out of Riley's arms, and the young woman snarled, gathering the boy's shirt up in her hands. Until she saw his eyes.

Mike squirmed as his breath was squeezed out of him. _WHO THE HECK IS HUGGING ME?_

_It's her, Gazzy._

"Gasman," his captor hiccupped, smoothing down his hair and planting a kiss on his forehead. "Oh, God, you've grown up." She pulled him away, cradling his face with teary brown eyes. _Her_ brown eyes.

That's then Mike started crying, too. "Max!"

The three—leader, trooper, and baby—clung to each other, sobbing and crying and filled with so much gosh darn _elation_ that they were too happy for words.

"Who are _you_?"

The reaction was instant. Riley leaped to her feet with a guttural, feral growl, and forced Sarah to the ground by her neck. "Stay away from them," the seventeen-year-old hissed, "if you wish to keep your life."

"I—just want—to know—_who_—you—_are_," Sarah coughed, her face tinting blue as she tried and failed to get rip the hands off her neck.

It was two soft, gentle hands on Riley's shoulder that got her to let go. "Max," Izzy said softly, "this is Sarah. She's good." _Don't hurt her, please._ The leader gave a curt nod.

"Sarah!" Dave, Haley, Jill, and Ben all crowded around their gasping sister as Mike and Izzy pulled an edgy Riley away. Haley leaned against Aiden, holding his hand tight. She looked disgustedly over at her friend.

"Your friend is a monster," she hissed.

"You don't know anything about _anything_, Haley," the taller girl spat, her eyes blazing dangerously. One arm was wrapped around Riley's waist, and the other squeezed the young woman's hand fiercely.

But Riley wasn't paying attention to their heated conversation. She was staring wide-eyed at the tall, strawberry-blonde, pale-as-all-get-out, ice-blue-eyed boy who had knelt down next to Sarah. He spoke softly to his gasping sister and slowly hoisted her to her feet.

"Iggy."

Aiden stiffened as a pair of strong-as-rope arms wrapped around his waist. But he couldn't mistake her voice, or the relief with which she said his name. "Max."

"Shit, Iggy, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so _damn_ sorry. All this was my fault."

Aiden chuckled, pulling one of his best friends close. He hated how she sounded so broken, so young, so _un_-Max-like. So he said the first thing that popped into his head. "Max, don't kid yourself. It was _his_ fault. You were just the brutal recipient of a scheme that they'd probably been planning ever since we whooped their asses. Didn't they drop off the planet after we got back together?"

"Yeah…" Riley nodded, swiping at her eyes. Then she pulled Izzy and Mike into the mini-flock hug, her heart nearly breaking to see them again. To see them _safe_ again. But something about them, something about how unnaturally flat their backs appeared to be, how confused they all looked, how she _knew_ she'd raised them but had no recollection whatsoever… it made her stomach clench up.

She fought to keep her voice steady as she whispered up to Aiden, "God, Ig, what the hell happened to us?"

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

*sniffle* Okay, raise your hands, who else was tearing up at this? Hehe, I just got so happy! I mean, I know how this story ends and stuff, but chapters like this just make me so happy to be working on this. These are my favorite chapters, by far. (Good thing that the rest of the story is a bunch of chapters like this. :) Can't wait to get on to some new chapters, really. This is going to get really good, guys. :D I can't wait!

For any and all new readers, how are you liking the story so far? If you like this, I suggest you go check out my lovely little one-shot _Achieving Peace, in Five Simple Steps_. That story makes me very happy, too. (And it makes me cry, in a good way. I think you would really like it, too. And maybe you could even leave a review for me? That would be very much appreciated!)

Sorry, I just couldn't resist a plug. *hangs head in shame*

Anyway, I hope you're enjoying _this_ story so far. I'm getting really close to beginning the very first chapter on Indescribable! Gah! We're almost there!

Your faithful author,

Lea


	25. 21: It's Time

**Previously, this was Chapter 20. (I just did a little re-ordering so the dates would line up nicely.)**

**The theme song for this chapter is "It's Not My Time" by 3 Doors Down.**

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**Incredible**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Chapter Twenty-One: It's Time**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

"_When they were taking me away, I heard one of the whitecoats say that, because of her intense brain activity, her lifespan was drastically shortened. My mom might not live to see Christmas."_

**Monday, November 22****nd****, 2010**

They shoved Wren's battered and bruised body into her cage, locking it with the keypad. An already-unconscious Jay was thrown in next. A pair of heavy black boots stomped out, closing the door with a final _thud_.

"Are you okay?" Ella's voice cut through the silence as if it were jello.

Total looked up, took in his friends' worn bodies, and broke into a low growl.

Wren threw a distressed glance at her brother. "They made him run," she whispered sadly. "He can't run for as long as they want him to. So they shock him."

The sixteen-year-olds' eyes widened in surprise. "What about you?" She lowered her voice so as not to disturb the gloom any more than she had to.

"Training." Ella's shoulders slumped in relief, until she noticed Wren's eyes darken. "They were training the new Erasers," she went on. "Those model-types who turn into wolves? Yeah, those are Erasers." She paused, her eyes pulling closed as she took a shuddering breath. "They let you loose in the sewers. Then you have a minute to get as far away as possible, but you're so far lost that it's not worth it to try even to escape. After that minute, they let the Erasers loose. They track you. If you last ten minutes or less, whatever is left of you after the Erasers get you is sent into the mazes. If you last longer, they don't let the Erasers maul you before you hit the mazes."

Ella froze, horrified. "That is so—"

"I know." Wren's eyes flickered open, meeting the sixteen-year-old's. Gone was the determination, the drive to beat the system. Those bastard whitecoats had broken her beyond repair.

Total nodded sadly. "It's ten times worse when they're really tracking you. Then, your only choice is kill them before they kill you—or worse, bring you back here." He sighed, looking up at the blank ceiling.

"Are there any cameras in here?" Ella asked softly, glancing up as well.

"No," Wren muttered, slumping against the bars of her cage, exhausted beyond belief.

Total elaborated, "We're underground, in a room with one heavy, metal door and no windows. We're locked in cages. We're tested until the point of collapse. By that logic, we're no longer 'threats.'" He shook his furry head angrily. "But what did they do with _you_, Ella? You were out for a bit while Wren and Jay were testing."

The girl's eyes pinched shut. "She's getting worse. They called up this German-sounding scientist."

Wren's voice asked, "Ter Borcht?"

"No…"

Total nodded gravely. "Gunther-Hagen."

"That's it." Ella sighed, curling up on the unforgiving metal base. She turned so the two conscious mutants could hear. "The Director said Mom needs to be transferred to school so they can study her, maybe fix her."

Wren bit into her lip. "Not _a_ school." She and Total exchanged a knowing, worried look. "_The_ School. Capital 'S.'"

The little black dog looked up suddenly, sitting back on his haunches. "When are they leaving, Ella?"

"Late this evening, why?"

By now Wren was beaming too. She reached over and gently roused her brother. Jay awoke panicked, his feathers fluttering uneasily, but his sister's reassuring hand kept him centered and quiet.

"My friends," the bird-girl said with a grin, "I do believe it's time to kiss this place good-bye."

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

"She's being sent out now. We expect the jet to arrive in six hours."

"And her brain is degenerating, you say?"

"Yes, Doctor."

"Hmm…"

"We're hoping you can counteract the process. She could be very valuable. We could learn so much from Valencia Martinez."

"I am aware of that, Ms. Walker. I'll do my best."

"Thank you, Dr. Gunther-Hagen."

Anne Walker slammed the phone into its receiver. She _loathed_ not being in control, and seeing the Dr. Martinez practically on her deathbed when there was nothing she could do… she _hated _it. Not that she cared for the woman, she didn't. Not really—the woman was just another experiment that Jeb had _botched_, leaving her to clean up the mess. But her team had spent too long trying to get this right, and she was _not_ going to have it fall apart now. Not while she could still take the fall.

Then maybe relinquishing the care of Valencia to the School was a good thing. Then she wouldn't be responsible for the woman's brain turning to mush.

It'd be a shame, really, to let her go. Anne would have loved picking her brain apart, to find out exactly now it ticked.

Just as she thought this, her pager began to buzz. _RM 271. H-A FOR ANALYSIS_. Anne felt herself smile, thought she wasn't really all that happy. But Room 271 was where they put the human-avian hybrids—the ones who had escaped, twice—and that absurd little dog, the one who was friends with Max. Anne couldn't really understand why they put the Martinez girl in there—probably because they had the extra cage after Experiment AeS9g2p12 was transferred.

Anne made her way down the halls, nodding as she passed by various subordinates, techs, and doctors. Just as she turned down the hall, a young tech nearly ran smack into her. The young woman's eyes were wide, frightened, as if for her life.

"M-m-ms. Walker! The human-avian hybrids—" that was as far as she got before Anne was sprinting down the corridor. She didn't even have to check room numbers to know which room she was headed for. Room 271 was the only one with its door flung wide open.

Anne walked into the holding room, quietly seething. _Someone's going to get the axe, now_. She could have been mad about the scientists lying on the cold tile floor, struggling to stand—but that wasn't it. Nor was it the infuriating sight of four open cage doors, gently swinging on their hinges.

No, it was the fact that Anne had _told_ Security many, many, _many times_ that the experiments needed to be under 24-hour surveillance. And each time, _each damn time_, they shot down the video feed idea, even when all she asked for was a camera to be places in room 271 alone—as opposed to every holding room—they still gave their excuses; damn excuses like '_We're an underground facility_,' or, '_No one can make it out of the sewers!_'

"Well," Anne wanted to shout, "look who's having the last laugh now!"

Because it wasn't her, that's for sure. It definitely wasn't the failure of a Security team, either.

No.

The ones laughing last were a sixteen-year-old girl, a talking Scottie dog, and two human-avian hybrids; two hundred miles away, headed for God-knows-where USA.

Anne would later reflect on this moment, and loath herself for her naivety. She should have thought of it sooner—it would have saved so much Goddamn _paperwork_.

It was obvious, really, where they were headed. The one place they _needed_ to stay away from, the only place where they could go and things could actually get _worse_:

Dallas, Texas.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

So, how do you like this chapter? I didn't change a whole lot here, because I mainly liked what's been happening in this story line with Ella, Wren, Jay, and Total. (But, goodness, I can't wait to get everyone together. It'll be so much easier to write when I don't need to worry about where everyone is all the time. I'd tell you more, but I really don't want to spoil anything for the sequel!)

Because I've forgotten it for the last few chapters: Got any questions/comments/random facts for me? Then leave a nice little REIVEW!

Sorry for the yelling there, folks.

All righty, I've got a little announcement for ya:

If you're a big fan of Maximum Ride (like me) and like to discuss it with people (like I do), but don't really have the time or the people to do so, then there's this really fantastic podcast that you should listen to. (If you like it, you can subscribe to them on iTunes, too!) It's called _Jeepers: A Maximum Ride Podcast_, and it's just fantastic. (I'm not just telling you this because they've mentioned me, but, well, it does add to their awesomeness-factor, I must say. ;) ) The podcast is done by two lovely British gals—with the great accents and everything—named Cat and Ellie, and they're hilarious and they do bring up some valid arguments in their podcasts. (Like: Is Dylan Max's twin? What's the deal with Brigid? And when are they going to get around to making a movie?) They also give pretty great suggestions for FanFiction, too. Really, you should just go check them out. (They're incredibly sweet—and they're big fans of this story, so they MUST be awesome by default. :DD) Here's the link, just take out the (dot)'s and replace them with actual periods: **catandels (dot) podbean (dot) com.**

That's it with my spiel today—bring on the next chapter!

Your faithful author,

Lea


	26. 22: Fan the Flames

**So there are some pretty bad swears here (my first time dropping the F-bomb for this story, and it's dropped a grand total of five times), but… it's a good chapter! You might be mad at me for it, but well… you'll see. ;)**

**Also, all the information I got for Pippin is straight from the website, translated into my own words. (You'll know it when you get there.)**

**The theme song for this chapter is "Diamond Eyes (Boom-Lay Boom-Lay Boom)" by Shinedown.**

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**Incredible**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Fan the Flames**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

_The fourteen-year-old beamed, rocking back onto her toes as her heart soared. "The North Park Mall, of course!"_

**Monday, November 22****nd****, 2010**

Clara grinned, glancing back at Ms. Hyatt and Danika as they climbed out of the Suburban that afternoon. "Really? We're _here_?"

"There might be some cute guys here," her friend teased, crossing her arms and pretending to look aloof. "Why else would we be here?"

"I love you, Dani!" Clara exclaimed, squeezing the air out of her best friend before skipping off to the entrance to the Blackland Prairie Raptor Center.

Once they had paid and walked on in through the entrance, the girls followed a crowd of about two dozen people, mostly children, into an open sunroom with a stout stage at the far end. Long benches were arranged in rows, and the group moved to sit in the first three.

"Hello, everyone!" a girl said as she walked out of a door near the one they'd just entered, clad in blue jeans and a black t-shirt that proclaimed _Blackland Prairie Raptor Center_ in green cursive. One of her arms sported a thick glove that hit her elbow. "My name is Sarah," she continued, hopping up onto the stage, "and I'd like to teach you about birds today. How do you feel about that?"

Some kids _Ooh_'ed and _Ahh_'ed, and Sarah frowned. "I know you can do better. Don'cha want to see some birds?"

The kids cheered this time, but they dropped to an awed murmur when a middle-aged man walked out the same door from which Sarah came, a red-shouldered hawk perched on his gloved arm. "This is Craig with one of our hawks, Pippin," Sarah introduced, giving the kids a small smile. "Pippin is a red-shouldered hawk, but unfortunately, he'll die out in the wild. Some people thought they were doing the right thing and raised him up when he was a baby. But because they did this, he never learned how to hunt. We're very lucky that we found him, otherwise he would have died…"

Clara gradually tuned out the speaker, her vision pin-pointing on that bird. It was clearly agitated, flapping its chestnut wings ever few seconds, picking up its talon-ed feet and repositioning itself on Craig's arm. _It's lived its whole life in captivity…_ Clara's hand shot up, her head spinning.

Slightly startled, Sarah nodded and asked, "Yes, miss?"

"Are the birds allowed to fly outside?" Her words were stiff, as restless as the hawk on the stage.

The girl nodded again, replying with confidence. "Of course. We have a very large area of the forest caged off—"

"_Caged off_?"

"Yes." Sarah blinked, taking a small step back; Clara was standing now, her eyes blazing. "Most of the birds here cannot survive in the wi—"

"How do you know this? Have you let them _try_? Have you given them any _freedom_? No!"

"Miss—"

Danika grabbed her friend's hand and hissed, "Clara!" Then she, too, stood, though her comment addressed to Sarah was apologetic. "Sorry, we'll just be heading out." Danika was convinced they'd have to drag Clara from the room, but her friend spun on her heels and stalked out, head held high.

Just as Clara looked up, a darkly-clothed figure leaning near the door met her eyes, making her stop in her tracks. His black eyes shone in amusement, but there was slight approval in the way he nodded before he slipped from the door. _Could it be…?_ She didn't stop to think before she ran after him.

In the entrance, he was nowhere to be seen. The fourteen-year-old rushed up to the cashier and asked, breathless, "Have you seen a guy?" She held a hand six inches above her head. "Yea tall, black hair, dark jeans, black t-shirt?" The man gave a short nod, pointing to the door that lead out to the short trail to the birds' observation area.

Clara was out the door before he could do anything more.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Owen almost chuckled to himself. His business-man father had no time for him today, so after a breakfast of champions (a protein shake and an energy bar), Mr. Ashwood had released his son to the outside world. And honestly, Owen couldn't be happier. He'd done some research when his mother had first introduced the idea of the trip, and he was surprised to find a raptor center in the Dallas area. Now, he headed out to the raptor observatory, were visitors could "marvel at the astonishing beauty of these reclusive creatures in the privacy of their natural habitat." Or rather, that's what the pamphlet said.

He crunched along the trail, pulverizing the leaves that lay on the cement with each step. As he walked, he couldn't help think back to that girl, the one who'd nearly beaten the instructor to a pulp. Had she gotten her way back in there, poor Sarah would be unconscious on the floor by now. Thank God her friend had stepped in when she had.

He could see where that girl was coming from, though. He didn't like cages or the thought of any small space any more than she seemed to, which was very little. But… she probably hadn't considered that, maybe, the cages weren't there to keep the birds _in_… they were built to keep everything else _out_.

Maybe it was for the birds' benefit that they were caged. Maybe, just maybe, they were safer that way.

"Hey!"

Owen spun around, only to get rammed into by a flurry of curly brown hair. He stumbled backwards but stayed standing, carefully pushing the figure upright.

"Sorry," the mocha-skinned girl said, rolling her eyes in embarrassment, "I tripped. And I really didn't mean to, it's just sometimes I trip over my own feet and—"

"I can tell," Owen interrupted, sensing that she wouldn't slow down if she got going. "But it's no big deal."

"Really?"

Owen gave a short nod and continued his way along the path, raising an eyebrow when the girl's footsteps crunched behind him.

"You like hawks, too?"

She caught up with him, her brown eyes curious, and a little excited. "I've always been supremely jealous of hawks. They're just so… badass and awesome. We don't have many where I live. But… sometimes I just watch them, and I feel this sticky déjà vu thing. Like I've seen it before. Them swooping across the sky in big arcs, and calling out and dancing around in the air. Almost like they're—"

"Talking to each other?"

The girl nodded swiftly. "Yeah. Hey…" She dug into her jeans pocket, extracting a worn piece of paper, its creases going soft from heavy fingering. Her shoulders tensed up, as if she wasn't sure whether or not she should continue. "Um, I saw you inside earlier, and I thought maybe… um…" she blushed furiously, unfolding the paper and handing it over. "Is this you?" She pointed to one of the smiling figures. Clad all in black with a crooked half-smile, sarcastic black eyes, and dark hair hanging lazily in his olive face, the boy looked exactly like a younger version of… Owen. Then he glanced at the girl in that boy's arms.

His heart stopped beating.

_Max_.

It had to be her. It looked _just_ like her, with those warm, confident brown eyes partially hidden by the strands of dark-blonde hair curtaining her face. Only Max could pull off that easy, teasing smile; the one that said, 'I'll smile and look happy, but I won't admit that I actually am.' Only Max could stand like that; straight and confident, but leaning slightly into his side, a promise that they would forever be a team.

"Where did you get this?" Owen's own voice surprised him; he sounded hoarse, urgent.

"I found it." The girl shrugged. They both looked up, and excitedly curious eyes met urgent, frenzied ones. "I'm in the picture, too," she supplied, pointing out her own smiling form. That's when Owen saw the tip of a tawny wing peeking out over her shoulder.

_A wing_.

"We… we have…"

The girl nodded again, a slight crease appearing between her eyebrows. "I'm still confused about that part. It doesn't make any sense, but at the same time, that's the youngest picture I've ever seen of myself. And it's the first one that actually looks like _me_."

The seventeen-year-old felt himself nodding. His mother didn't have any baby pictures of him either, and he'd never found any ancient photo albums in the recesses of the Dinardo's dusty old attic. The earliest pictures Owen had seen of himself were when he was about fifteen. In this one—because he couldn't deny that it _was_ he who stood with his arms around Max—he looked younger, different. His eyes were darker; they'd seen too many obscenities to possibly be legal. He was unbelievably thin, as if he hadn't ever had a good meal.

And when he looked over Max with this new scrutiny, he was surprised at what he found. Her shoulders sloped downward; who ever had been in control of her had put her under too much pressure. Those eyes, those mesmerizing eyes, were alert, calculating. She didn't trust a soul. Her chin was tight, and she was fighting off a scream of frustration behind her easy, teasing, _lying_ smile.

"She misses you."

Owen's head snapped up. "_What?_"

"She misses you," the girl repeated. "A lot. Well, either that,_ or_ she wants to rip you to pieces. I couldn't really tell. But she definitely felt something when she saw that picture."

She gave a squawk of surprise when Owen sprang forward and squeezed her shoulders, shaking them violently.

"You _saw_ her?" he demanded, eyes wide and insistent and almost… insane.

The girl nodded carefully, overcoming her sudden fright. Then she smiled. Apparently, she'd come to an important conclusion, because she asked gently, "Would you like to talk to her?"

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Riley stiffened when her cell phone buzzed in her pocket, sending the vibrations down her leg.

Izzy frowned from her perch on the Wallace's kitchen counter, taking a bite out a juicy slice of watermelon.

After the swing incident and nearly choking Sarah, Riley had texted her eldest sister to say that Rachel swung by to pick her up on her way to the grocery store, giving Rose no reason to worry when she came outside to find her car abandoned.

In reality, she'd ridden back to the Wallace's house with the group, where they'd explained her presence to everyone as an old friend of Aiden's, and Izzy and Mike's cousin.

The rest of the Wallace's had scattered after that, still scared and still worried about Riley's sanity. She'd tried to apologize to Sarah, but Mike had advised her just to leave the sixteen-year-old alone. Now they were all stationed around the kitchen in various poses of boredom, munching on the forgotten sandwiches.

But right now, it was killing her how _little_ she remembered. Izzy, Mike, and Aiden all brought memories crashing to the front of her mind, but they were all distorted. A feeling here, a sight there. None of it added up. It didn't help at all that Riley knew for _certain_ that she'd grown up with the three of them, and that Clara was also somehow apart of the jumbled mess that was her memories.

"Who is it?" Aiden asked now as Riley flipped open her cell.

Izzy's eyes widened. "It's Nudge," she said softly. The four in the kitchen all crowded together, gazing at the cell phone, or listening intently, with a reverence fit for visiting dignitaries.

Answering the phone and putting it on speaker, Riley asked, "Hello?"

Clara's voice came out soft, and excited. "Hey, Max. I've got someone here who'd like to talk to you."

"Who is it?" Her whole body went rigid against the kitchen counter. Mike stiffened as well, his gaze at the offending device hardening dangerously.

Riley could practically feel the girl's grin through the phone. "Why don't you let him tell you?" A pause.

"Max?"

The sudden realization made her blood run cold. Everything in her body froze. _This is him. This is Fang. Nudge has found Fang. Nudge found Fang! Nudge. Found. FANG!_

Her breath stopped in her chest,

and she dropped the phone,

and collapsed.

Aiden held his arms out automatically, stopping a stricken Riley from hitting the ground. He pulled her into his chest as she shook with silent, dry sobs.

It was Mike who caught the phone, and he took one of Riley's hands with his free one and growled menacingly, "What do _you_ want?"

"Who's this?" The deep voice sounded suspicious, confused.

"It's none of your business."

Izzy sent a glare at her brother. "Stop it, Gazzy." To the phone, she said with a furrowed brow, "Hiya, Fang."

There was another pause. Then, "Angel?"

Izzy's gaze softened and she took the phone away from her brother, turning off the speaker and placing it to her ear.

While the nine-year-old moved to the kitchen table to speak in a low voice into the phone, her brother gave his leader's hand a squeeze. "Are you okay, Max?"

As she was speaking into her friend's chest, her reply came out muffled. "He left us, Gazzy."

"And he's an ass, Max. Don't let him get to you," Aiden murmured, smoothing down her hair.

"I know, Iggy…" she choked, looking up into his sightless eyes. "But I—"

"He wants to talk to you, Max." Izzy's coaxing voice pulled Max from her safety net that was the two boys. The young woman stepped out of Aiden's arms and stood upright, though her eyes were still red. She held out her hand, and Izzy handed over the cell phone.

"What?" Riley asked shakily as she put the phone up to her ear.

A gust of breath. That deep voice came again, saying, "Oh, my God. Max."

Riley's heart stuttered in her chest. _This is him_, she reminded herself. So how should be feeling? Definitely not this syrupy mixture of relief and elation and… _love?_

"Fang." Her own voice sounded feeble, weak. And she didn't like it.

"Max, it's really you, isn't it?"

Then Riley snapped.

"I don't _know,_ Fang! I really _don't_! And do you know whose fault it is? It's _yours!_"

Nothing made sense. Not hearing Fang/Owen's voice over the phone; or Clara having that picture; or being so terrified when Izzy had flown off the swings; or nearly squeezing the stuffing out of Mike; or feeling so _relieved_ to find Aiden; or how confused and protective and relieved and elated she felt to see them all again; or Becca's mysterious origins; or her fraudulent parents; or how she was _positive_ that she should be furious with Fang, even though she had no damn idea _why._ None of it. Made. Any. Sense.

And it was too _damn_ easy to blame Fang. For everything.

By now she was _livid _with him, and her fury rolled off her shoulders in waves.

"Max…" He sounded placating. Like she would fall for that crap now!

"Don't you _Max_ me! You _left_ us, Fang! You broke us all into a million pieces, and _you don't care!_"

"Wait a minute!" His sudden exclamation—an angry, aghast shout—almost made Riley jump out of her skin. "Who _ever_ said I stopped caring?" His voice was low, furious, deadly.

But Riley wasn't intimidated by him. "_You_ did, Fang. _You_ did when you _left!_"

"Who said I left on _purpose?_"

They were both shouting now.

"_You!_ You and your _fucking_ note! You said you _loved _me! You _LIAR!_ If you loved me so much then _why did you fucking leave?_"

"I fucking _left_ to protect your sorry _ass_, Maximum Ride! What if you were in more danger _with_ me than you were _without_? Did you ever stop to think that I left because I fucking _loved you_ _too much?_"

"LIAR!" Riley screamed into the receiver, her blood boiling and her hands clenched so hard around her phone that her knuckles went white. Hot, angry tears sprang to her eyes, but they didn't fall. She wasn't about to cry over him again. She was too far beyond pissed to cry over him ever again. "You're a… you're a lying _bastard!_ And you always _will be!_ So, guess what, _Fang?_ I _love_ you, too! I'd _love_ it if _I NEVER HAD TO SEE YOUR FUCKING FACE AGAIN FOR AS LONG AS I LIVE!_"

Then she slammed her cell phone shut, and threw it across the room.

Just before it crashed through the window, Mike—who'd backed away along with his sister and Aiden when Riley began to shout—shot out a hand and plucked it out of the air.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

So…? What do you think of that? This is my favorite chapter, hands down. I had so much trouble writing is, but _God_ it felt so amazing to get it done. I didn't change much here, mostly because I thought it originally was pretty seamless. Any thoughts, comments, questions on this chapter? Now, it may not seem like it, but you _will_ get your Fax. (I'm not telling you when, and I'm not telling you how much, but you will get it.)

This is gonna be pretty short today, mostly because I want to knock out the rest of the chapters today, and get to working on Indescribable as soon as possible!

But here's a quick tip, for future reference: Reviews, whether they be good or bad, always get me writing faster! It's like physics. Lea + Reviews = quicker updates. (Generally. Most of the time I stick to a once-a-week schedule. But sometimes you get spontaneous updates!)

Guys, we're almost DONE! I'm so excited. :)

Your faithful author,

Lea


	27. 23: Lone Star

**The theme song for this chapter is "Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol.**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Incredible**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Lone Star**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

_It was obvious, really, where they were headed. The one place they needed to stay away from, the only place where they could go and things could actually get worse:_

_Dallas, Texas._

**Tuesday, November 23****rd****, 2010**

"Wren?"

The blonde bird-girl glanced in the rear-view mirror, meeting her brother's sleepy eyes. _He must have just woken up_. Ella was still passed out next to him—she'd crashed hours ago. Truth be told, all Wren wanted was to curl up and sleep for ages, too.

She was still amazed they'd done it.

Jay, with his hyper-sensitive hearing, had long-ago memorized the code to get them out of their cages. But even if they ever tried to escape, they never would have made it far. The wings of the Institute were all closed off by metal doors, ones that required an Itex-issued ID to open. And even if they _could_ get an ID, there was no way they'd make it out. There were too many guards, too many Erasers, and the sewers beneath the city were too elaborate to navigate. They would have starved to death in the filthy underbelly of one of the most famous cities in the world.

But this time was different.

This time, they had Ella, who'd glimpsed a map of the facility while being escorted down one of the corridors. She'd passed it multiple times, and, amazingly, she _remembered_ it. _I always liked maps,_ she'd murmured sheepishly the night they'd planned to make their escape.

This time, the guards and the Erasers were all supervising Valencia Martinez's transportation to the School. They couldn't sedate her because of the brain trauma they'd inflicted upon her; and she was growing feistier, like an angry child who didn't get their way. The whitecoats needed four Erasers just to coax her out of her holding room, and ten to corral her so she would keep moving towards the elevators to the helicopter pad.

This time, the scientists weren't expecting retaliation. They weren't expecting Wren and Jay to spring from their cages and knock them unconscious. The experiments had been docile for too long to be considered threats anymore; two years was a long time to be experimented on after once tasting freedom. It should have worn them down. But Wren and her brother were ready.

They'd all ran like mad after overcoming the scientists, sprinting down the hall, following Ella as she navigated her way seamlessly through the narrow twists and turns of the hallways. Then they were running up flights upon flights of steps, right into the subway tunnels of New York City.

The van had been an accident, though. It was just sitting out there when they emerged from the subway entrance. Wren had it hotwired quickly— a skill Fang had taught her before they were captured by Itex—and soon the four fugitives were hurdling down the interstate at sixty-five miles-an-hour, headed straight for the Lone Star State. At that point, the reliability of the cruise control was their biggest concern.

"What's up, Jay?" Wren asked gently now. They were about halfway to Nashville from the Tennessee state line, and she planned on stopping for a motel room when they reached the city. Honestly, though, she'd been driving too long to have any energy left at all. At the moment, she was about half-way through her sixth wind.

"Ella is Max's sister, right?"

"Mmhmm."

"Then does she know about—"

Wren cut her brother off quickly, her eyes flickering away from the head-light-illuminated road for a moment. "No, no one knows about her but us, Jay. You, me, and Total."

Jay rubbed at his eyes, his jaw popping from the wide-mouthed yawn. "Aren't you gonna tell Ella, then? Max _is_ her sister. Are we gonna see Max, too? Are you gonna tell _her_? What about Fang? He should know, too." He glanced up at his sister in the wide-eyed innocence that only comes with childhood.

"I know, Jay," Wren sighed, rubbing her forehead with the palm of one hand. "But they don't even remember being bird-kids. They probably won't trust us. We don't want to scare them even worse."

The seven-year-old sat forward, blinking the last of sleep from his eyes. He patted Total's curled-up form on the passenger seat. The dog had been instructing Wren when she first sat behind the wheel. _They thought it was silly that I accompanied Max, Fang, and Ella while Dr. M taught them to drive_, he had scoffed. _And now we're headed to save their sorry butts! Who's laughing now?_ Wren had gotten him to shut up with a raised eyebrow.

"So," Jay asked softly, "we're going to the School to save Max and Ella's momma. Are we gonna get her, too? I liked her, Wren. Can she come with us?"

Wren nodded, wishing that they could just get to Nashville already. She was _so_ tired. "I think so. I mean, as soon as Max sees her, she'll make sure to get her out. Don't worry about it, Jay. I'll handle it." At least, she hoped she could.

"Okay." Jay's blonde head bobbed, and he placed a gentle hand on his sister's shoulder. "Wren? Let's stop. You're gonna fall asleep. We can go to a rest stop or somethin'. We don't need a hotel. It'll be just like with Fang. We slept in trees and stuff, and that was okay. Like camping. But it was better than the Institute. Wren, let's stop here." He pointed to the sign as they passed it. _REST STOP-NEXT EXIT._

Wren's lips turned up in a smile, and soft eyes glanced back at her brother. "Sure, Jay."

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Becca awoke to the sharp blaring of her cell phone ringing. As a prank right before she'd left home for good, Riley had set it to a bull horn. Becca never had the heart to change it.

She scrambled to sit up in the dingy motel bed, reaching for her cell on the bedside table. The clock said it was nearly two in the morning.

"Wha'?" Her voice came out groggy, a half-yawn.

"Becca, can I talk to you?" The voice came out quiet, but shook with the threat of tears.

Rebecca Kimmel froze. Her baby sister. Or, her cousin. Riley. "Riles, what's up?" she asked softly, soothing. When was the last time she'd had a real conversation with Riley? The one Sunday afternoon couldn't have counted; it was mostly an interrogation. Definitely, then, not since before she left home. Was it really that long ago?

Riley's broken voice started up again, sounding fuzzy through the cell phone earpiece. "Bex… I don't know what to do. I just don't. I mean, they need me to be so… they need me to be so different. And I don't _remember_ being how they want me to be. But I really _wish_ I did. And then he called me… God, Bex. I just feel so _alone_."

"What's going on, Riles?" Becca lay back down, her eyes tracing the cracks on the ceiling. Doing this, talking with Riley like they were sisters again, it was nice. She missed this. There was a part of her that almost, _almost_ wished she hadn't come back for Thanksgiving. But then she wouldn't be getting this call. "I can't help if you don't tell me what's going on."

"Becca, he said he loved me. He said he _loved_ me. In a freaking _letter_. Then he left. I should hate him, Becca. Everything is _his_ fault. All of it. So why do I love him so freaking much?"

"Shh, shh. Who left, Riles? Suddenly you've fallen in love with a boy, and I've only been gone for a year and a half?"

"No, no," Riley sighed, her voice shaking slightly. "I knew him before. I knew him before _everything_. He was _always_ there. God, _I miss him so much_." Her voice broke off, dissolving into choking sobs for a moment. When it came back, her words were shaky and watery. "I _can't_ do this without him. But I can't do this if he comes _back_ either, Bex."

Rebecca felt herself smiling. _Oh, Riley._ Always the mass of contradictions. "Maybe you should talk to him, Riles. That would be step number one."

Riley sucked in a shuddering breath, trying to regain her composure. "What if I already talked to him? Shit, Bex. I messed up so _badly_."

"What did you say to him, exactly?"

"Exactly?" Riley's voice came out muffled, as if she was speaking into a pillow. "I told him I'd love it if I never had to see his effing face again for as long as I live."

"Then what?"

"Then I hung up." Riley's voice cracked, and she coughed violently. "He's never going to come back now, Bex."

"Riles, maybe you should try again. Maybe he really does want to see you again." Rebecca suddenly heaved a sigh, pulling the heel of her palm down her face. Of _course_! Riley was just doing a recon mission for her parents. They wanted her to come back. The former Kimmel grumbled, "Man, I'm such a hypocrite. Mom and Dad—sorry, _Aunt Tori _and _Uncle George_—didn't make you call, did they?"

Riley's voice turned bitter. "Gee, thanks, Rebecca. I'll make sure not to call you next time I'm in emotional turmoil." She paused for an long moment moment. When she spoke again, her tone was soft, earnest. "But are you coming back, Bex? At least for Thanksgiving?"

Rebecca didn't even think before she answered. "Sorry, Riles. I just can't." _She's actually upset, damn._ "But I can still watch the game, okay? I'll call you, and we can make fun of the silly football players and all the guys in the stands drooling over the cheerleaders. How's that sound?"

Riley paused to think for a moment. "It's okay, I guess." Then came the irritated, "Guys drooling over cheerleaders are _not_ funny."

Rebecca tilted her head back and laughed; a proper, full-bodied laugh that caused joyful tears to spring into her eyes. "Oh, no, of course, Riles. We're laughing at all the guys who came with girlfriends. We're laughing at the girlfriends who want to strangle their beaus on live TV. We're laughing at the guys who know they're going to get their asses whooped as soon as they get gone."

Riley contemplated this before saying drily, "Oh, you can _bet_ that they'll get their asses whooped. Rebecca, if I can promise you anything, it is that they will get their asses _whooped_."

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

There was a lot of sibling bonding going on in this chapter. I really liked it. :) Anybody else?

I liked the whole Riley/Becca thing. Riley's relationship with her youngest older sister is different that with Rose or Rachel. They're more like friends than anything else. And I think Riley needs that. (She also needed to deflate after the rather _intense_ events in the last chapter. Gord, she really _is_ such a mass of contradictions.)

But guess what? I think I'll be adding a new chapter right after this for you guys, seeing as Becca needs a tiny bit more explaining to do before we begin in on the sequel. (It's coming, folks!) Luckily, I already have this new chapter planned out a bit. (The second one was more spur-of-the-moment, so it took me a bit longer to work out. But I like how that one pulled together.)

Now… who do you think this mysterious She is? (The one Wren and Jay were talking about in the beginning.) I can't tell you if you're right, but I can tell you how close you are! (Hint: She'll have a quite large part in the sequel.)

That's all I've got for you now, folks! See you next chapter!

Your faithful author,

Lea


	28. 23 5: Trail of Crumbs

**Hey, what's this? A NEW chapter (and a giant one at that)? It must be your lucky day. :)**

**The theme song for this chapter is "The Sound of Madness" by Shinedown.**

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**Incredible**

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Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Chapter Twenty-Three and a Half: Trails of Crumbs**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

_Yeah, he could go to the football game._

**Tuesday, November 23****rd****, 2010**

"Where are we going?" Owen asked for the fifth time, his hands tightening on the armrests of the passenger seat.

For the fifth time, his father answered, "You're going to like it, son."

The teenager grumbled that, by now, that wasn't looking too likely, but he let it go. After all, he'd like _any _place better than the small, cave-like confines of his guest bedroom, where he was free to reflect all he wanted on the absolute _disaster_ that was yesterday's trip to the raptor center.

And what a disaster it was.

She'd accused him of not caring, of leaving them all behind.

_Damnit, if only I knew what she was talking about!_ He didn't really even know _why_ she was furious with him, only that she was, and nothing seemed to shake it. God, if he could just _talk_ to her, face-to-face. He just wanted to _see_ her again…

_But she doesn't want to ever see you again._ That one thought swirled around his shell-shocked brain, echoing repeatedly off the inner walls just to mock him. The one thing he absolutely _needed_—to apologize for something he barely even _remembered_—he could never have.

It didn't help that his father had tried to interrogate him last night. Owen _never_ wanted to have a conversation like that again. He only vaguely remembered how it went:

"How was the raptor center, Owen?" Mr. Ashwood had been eating when he asked this.

He'd shrugged in response. What was he supposed to say, anyway? That the one person who knew him best had all but physically ripped his heart out, the way his chest ached so much?

"I've heard that they take good care of the birds there," his father had gone on. When he looked up, though, his light expression fell. "Would you like to tell me something, son?" he'd asked, sounding so fatherly and concerned it was scary.

"There's nothing to tell," he'd muttered stonily, before pushing his plate away and retreating to the darkness of his bedroom.

Then, that morning, he'd been dragged out of bed at half past noon and shoved into a little blue Camry, and all his appeals as to where they were headed were denied with a snarky, knowing smile.

Owen didn't know how much longer they drove, just that by the time they'd passed through the second toll booth he'd rolled down the window and promptly got lost in the scenery. What could have been hours later—but was really only twenty minutes—they drove past a sign that read _Cedar Ridge Nature Preserve—Next Exit._ Jeb pulled into the right lane and after a moment they were diverted off of the highway and onto a narrow, two-lane road, surrounded on both sides by trees, that lead up to a small building in the middle of nowhere.

They passed a sign that proudly proclaimed, _Welcome to Cedar Ridge!_ Surprisingly enough, Owen didn't feel very welcome at all among the trees. He felt like he was trespassing on some place that should have been left untouched.

The little Camry pulled to a stop, and the seventeen-year-old was climbing out of the car before his father even pulled the keys from the engine. "Why are we here?" he asked, unable to keep the accusatory tones from his voice as he buried his hands into his pockets.

"I thought you could use some time to clear your head. The fresh air will do you good." Mr. Ashwood nodded, pulling out a digital camera from his pocket. He tossed it lightly over the car, and Owen caught the device easily. "That's for you. You can keep it, if you want."

"Thanks," Owen mumbled, turning the little camera over in his hands. For some reason, he had a strange sense of doing the same thing a long time ago, right before he wrapped it up and gave it to a little blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl—the same girl who had spoken with him on the phone yesterday. _Angel_.

Owen nodded and looked up at his father. He was vaguely startled to find the man scrutinizing him in an all-together _scientific_ way. "Um, sir?"

His father shook his head, as if to clear his mind. "Sorry. Go on ahead, I'll be a few minutes. Why don't we meet back up here in, say, an hour?"

He didn't get a reply, because Owen was already jogging away, slipping through the trees and onto the trail.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Rebecca leaned her head against the tree trunk, fixing her hood so she didn't get any sap in her hair. She was still mulling over that bizarre conversation she'd had with Riley the night before. She'd never heard her sister sound so broken or so confused, and she'd seen Riley in all sorts of lights, especially after hard days at school. But last night was different. Riley didn't seem like she'd be able to easily pull herself out of _this_ funk.

The strangest thing was, throughout that whole conversation, Becca couldn't help but be reminded of… _No_. She shook her head. The whole idea was crazy. _She_ had been crazy. She'd only been sixteen, after all. And yet… _No, stop it!_ The young woman sighed, running her fingers through her head. At least when she'd been working for Mr. Ashwood, she didn't have to deal with head-trauma like this. He'd helped her actually _do_ things; she'd been productive, she'd been a _force_ in the world, for the first time in her life. She'd had a _voice_.

Maybe quitting wasn't the wisest choice after all.

At that moment, a pair of footsteps startled her from her reverie as someone crunched down the path. Becca stumbled to her feet just as a young man came into view, snapping pictures with a shiny digital camera. He paused when the lens landed on her.

"Sorry," he said, backing away and stowing the camera into his pocket.

Becca shook her head, rubbing at her arms in embarrassment. "It's okay, I was just heading out." Then she met his eyes—very black, very familiar eyes—and watched them widen nearly imperceptibly in shock. _That's _when she remembered—he was the boy from Mr. Ashwood's office Sunday night. The realization made her blush; he'd been there to hear her tirade.

"You work for my dad?" he asked cautiously. "Or… you used to."

The young woman blushed harder. "Yeah, I guess. You're Mr. Ashwood's son, aren't you?" She raised an eyebrow, folding her arms neatly across her chest and shifting her weight a little.

He only shrugged in response. "You can say that." Here, he seemed at a loss to continue, his face conflicted. After a pause, he said, "I don't know him really well, though. He left me and my mom when I was little."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." Becca nodded thoughtfully. "My parents weren't all that spectacular either," she admitted, her voice going bitter. "Apparently, my dad gave me to my aunt and uncle to raise. Then he disappeared off the face of the Earth, taking the news of my dead mother and brother with him. But… you already knew this." She shook her head. "Sorry, it's just…" Becca looked up at the young man, frowning a bit. "You're really easy to talk to."

He shook his head, as if mocking himself, jostling his dark bangs out of his face. His face darkened and he opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but he evidently decided against it. He stuck his hands back into his pockets and asked, genuinely curious, "How did you get to work for my dad, anyway?"

Becca gave a sharp laugh, throwing her head back. "God, you _really_ want to know?"

Owen nodded, frowning a bit. He wasn't about to tell her, because it would be far too creepy, but he wanted to know if she really did know Riley, or was it Max? He couldn't deny that they looked so much alike… compared to the Max from the photograph, this girl was nearly identical. She nodded tiredly now, moving back to the tree where she was sitting earlier. She set herself down, pulling her knees up to her chest, and patted the ground next to her.

"I'm Becca, by the way," she clarified as Owen sat down.

"Owen," he replied automatically.

Becca gave a smile. "So, Owen, how should I begin?" She thought for a moment, frowning into her knees.

"Well, when I was in high school, I was a little… different," she admitted. "I suffered from schizophrenia for about a year and a half. My 'parents' assigned me to a shrink to try to get to the bottom of the voices I kept hearing, but it didn't really work. They put me on all sorts of medications, but eventually I learned just to grin and bear it, you know? But it got to a point where I just couldn't take it any more. So I lied to them, told everyone that the voices went away. The strange thing was, as soon as I did that, they really _did_ go away. It was the scariest thing in the world." She tapped at the ground, running her fingers along the dirt.

Owen nodded thoughtfully when she peeked up at him through the corner of her eyes. The young woman smiled lightly, continuing, "After that, life was just really… weird. I couldn't really talk to my parents anymore, and my older sisters were going away to college and getting married. My little sister had enough on her plate to have to worry about me, too. The kids at school were so awful to Riley," she sighed, oblivious to the fact that Owen tensed up, his hands tightening into fists from where they rested on his knees. "Anyway, I dropped out of school because my brain had basically turned to mush, and that really pissed off my dad. So I left home." She shrugged, looking up, her eyes landing on Owen's tense stance. "Um…" Something like recognition lit up in her eyes. "I should stop. You really don't want to know. It's just really… messed up."

"I know messed up, too," Owen said softly. He didn't know why, but he felt like he needed to hear what she had to say. She was apart of something bigger, and he needed to hear this—for future reference or something. "You're not the only one who has problems." _Max being the biggest one_. But he wasn't about to admit _that_; it was too personal.

"Did you ever get drunk and admit that you thought you heard the voices of angels?" Becca countered with a laugh, leaning back against the tree. She winced when the seventeen-year-old next to her stiffened and raised his eyebrows. "I was on my own for barely even a week, and I ended up at a bar. I was so wasted that it wasn't legal, considering I was under age—still am—and this guy found me and took me out of there before anyone could call the cops. As it turns out, he was your dad. I was so wasted that I thought I'd seen him before, when I used to have my schizo episodes. It's so weird." She let out a little laugh. "I was _convinced_ I'd seen him before, and I was _convinced_ that I shouldn't trust him for the life of me. But I got to talking to him anyway, telling him about the visions I would almost see when I would have an episode, and he sobered me up enough to offer me a job." The young woman sighs, looking up to the sky. Then she turned to Owen, a curious expression on her face. "Do you even know what your father does?"

The young man shook his head, his brow pinching together. "Not really," he admitted slowly.

"Your father is an activist. He runs this organization kind of like the CSM, if you remember them." She frowned, speaking slowly to try to make sense of it herself. "They were big against global warming and stuff, and they had those really controversial air shows, but that's not the point. The point is your father's company is in the vein of work. See, when your father offered me a job, he explained about these companies that wanted to… restructure the world, was what I think he'd said." Becca bit her lip, watching the teenager carefully to make sure he wouldn't freak out like Riley had.

When she found him watching her intensely, as if he _had_ to know where she was going with this, she continued with vigor, "There was this company a few years ago that got busted for doing these wacky, evil-scientist-type experiments, supposedly on humans." She said this all quickly, as if hoping to skim over it, waving her hand in the air for effect. "Your dad is trying to work with people to stop companies like this. So my job is to go to places like this, seedy-type places, and find out if they're on the up-and-up or not." Becca's voice went quiet for a moment, and her eyes fluttered closed. "I've seen some awful things. Those places are _real_, Owen. And it's Goddamn _terrifying_. I've seen terrible things, these half-human _creatures_ that really shouldn't even be…alive." Her last word came out as a whisper and her eyes snapped open, wide with panic when they landed on Owen. She scrambled to her feet, brushing off her pants absent-mindedly. "Where's your dad?" she insisted, already backing down the trail. Owen didn't even reply—she was gone before he had a chance to do so.

Rebecca moved swiftly, running back the way she came down the difficult, uneven path. Just as she was turning a corner onto an easier, smoother trail of dirt, she nearly rushed head-long into a solid form. Thankfully, the young woman was able to skid to a stop before she crashed into someone for the _second_ time that week. "So sorry, sir!" she exclaimed, blushing slightly as she glanced up. She was shocked when her gaze landed on her former boss. "Hello, Mr. Ashwood," the young woman said with a tiny bow of her head.

"Hello, Rebecca," the man chuckled, stepping away to give her a bit more breathing room. "How have you been treating yourself?"

"Um, sir, I've actually been thinking quite a bit, and…" she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose for a moment before admitting breathlessly, "I would like to have my job back."

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

So, what do you think about this? There's a lot of explaining going on, but I think you really needed it. This chapter was way longer than I expected it to be, but maybe that's okay? *hopes it is* Because this chapter was really long, I'm going to keep this nice and short.

Guess what? We're almost done! I'm actually really excited. I might be able to start in on Indescribable tomorrow, if I can get all of my homework done!

Your faithful author,

Lea


	29. 24: Seeing Red and Black

**The theme song for this chapter is "Memories That Fade Like Photographs" by All Time Low.**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Incredible**

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Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Seeing Red and Black**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

_Then she slammed her cell phone shut, and threw it across the room._

_Just before it crashed through the window, Mike—who'd backed away along with his sister and Aiden when Riley began to shout—shot out a hand and plucked it out of the air._

**Wednesday, November 24****th****, 2010**

Clara tapped her feet impatiently, waiting for her friend to come out of the changing room. Danika had taken six different shirts—the most they'd allow—and she had insisted on trying each one of before parading out in front of her friend with her favorites.

"I don't know, which one do you like the best, JJ?"

Clara turned to see two older girls—maybe seniors in high school—examining a rack of dresses. The red-haired one held a blue-grey shirt dress up, examining it and smoothing down the buttoned collar.

"Oh, that's totally not right for you," Clara said before she could think it through. "You'd look like prep-school Barbie's best friend." _Or her worst enemy_. She glanced at the nearby racks and plucked a belted chiffon dress out of the unsorted mess. She held it up to the red-head, comparing her hair to the reddish-brown of the fabric. "Yeah, this is the one you want. Go, try it on!"

The girl and her petite friend, flabbergasted, shuffled off to the dressing room. Danika brushed past them, a big grin on her face. She rushed up to Clara. "I think this is the one!" she announced, spinning and showing off how the deep-blue of the shirt's fabric gave her all the important curves.

"Totally, Dani," Clara smiled, giving her friend's arm a squeeze. However, her teeth clenched anxiously as she glanced at the clock on the wall. "Can we buy the shirt and head out? I'd really like to hit up a few other stores before we have to meet your mom for lunch."

"Okay. I'll be right back." Danika nodded with a grin and slipped back into the dressing room to change.

They spent a few more minutes in the store, wandering around and trying on scarves, hats, and sunglasses and laughing like only best friends can. As they walked out the store after Danika had paid, a heavily manicured hand wrapped around Clara's arm.

"Tiffany-Krystal?"

Clara turned around, to see the red-head from before. Her friend stood a step or two back, holding her face in her hands in mortification.

"You're Tiffany-Krystal Ride, aren't you? Your parents are the missionaries. You probably don't remember me 'cause I was in your brothers' class, but you went to my school in Virginia! I'm Lissa, this is JJ. We're on vacation for Thanksgiving break," she explained eagerly. "Hey, are you here with your family? Is your brother Nick around?"

"Sorry?" Clara stepped back, out of her grasp. She'd never seen this girl before, and the farthest she'd _ever_ been away from home was this trip.

"What is she talking about, Clara?" Danika hissed, her brow furrowed. "You've never been to Virginia."

"I know," the fourteen-year-old replied softly. Then she crossed her arms defiantly over her chest and glared at the older girls. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"How could you not?" Lissa countered, incredulous. "I mean, you were there for two months. Then you mysteriously left school or something. I'm not sure. JJ and I were sick that day. Stupid defective chicken pox shots," she grumbled, her eyes flickering downward. Then she looked back up, her eyes excited and inquisitive. "Why did you leave, anyway?"

"I _don't_ know what you're talking about," Clara maintained, her voice stiff and angry. "We're going to leave now. If you try to talk to us again, I _will_ call the police." At that, she and Danika spun on their heels and stalked away from the entrance, leaving two utterly baffled seniors in their wake.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

"I'm telling you, JJ, that was Nick Ride's younger adopted sister," Lissa insisted as they walked down to the food court. Their arms were laden with the various spoils of their trip, and both were starving.

"Lissa, I think you're crazy. I mean, how could it possibly be them? Isn't Anne Walker in charge of them or something? I heard she moved to New York City." JJ stepped into the McDonald's line, shifting her bags so she could grab her wallet out of her purse.

Lissa trailed behind her friend, her arms only slightly heavier. "JJ, their parents are obviously back. I bet they have a huge ranch out in the country or something. But I _know_ that's Nick's little sister. And—look!" She pointed to one end of the food court, where Clara ran up and threw her arms around Riley in excitement. "See?" Lissa exclaimed incredulously. "There's Max!"

JJ's eyebrows show upward as the line moved forward. "I guess you're right. But don't bother them. They might get mad. That girl _did_ say she was going to call the police."

Lissa huffed indignantly. "I'm sure Nick's here, too. We'll just go say hello before they leave and ask where he is. I mean, I'm sure he still—" She cut herself off, looking back to the counter wide, abashed eyes.

"He still _what_, Liss?"

Lissa shook her head, her cheeks flushing. "Never mind."

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

"Where's your friend and her mom?" Riley asked Clara as they sat at a table near the north end of the food court.

"Over there," she responded, turning and gesturing with a tan arm to a table near the Subway restaurant. There, the two girls could see Danika, Christie Ann, and their mother sitting at a table and eating sandwiches. When Clara twisted back to face the table, she bit her lip and asked, "Hey, Max?"

"Mmhmm?" The seventeen-year-old took a long sip from her smoothie and brushed a piece of hair behind her ear. "What's up, Nudge?"

"While Dani and I were in Forever Twenty-One, this girl ran up to us and called me Tiffany-Krystal. She said I'd gone to her school in Virginia. But Max, I've _never_ been to Virginia before. Heck, this is the first time I've left the _Midwest_." Clara glanced over her shoulder suspiciously. "I thought I saw her here, too… damn. There she is."

True enough, Lissa and JJ were making their way over to where Riley and Clara sat. The girls were arguing rather animatedly, with Lissa practically livid and JJ the calm antagonist.

"Max!" the red-head called, rushing over and setting her McDonald's tray down heavily, even though it only carried a single chicken salad and a water bottle. "Okay, _you_ have to remember me. Nick and I ki—I mean, I was in your brothers' class for the few months you were in Virginia freshman year! I'm Li—"

"I _don't_ know what you're talking about," Riley growled dangerously. She sat rigid in her seat, glaring daggers at the red-haired girl. Her eyes were vibrant and angry, and her fists slowly clenched on the table. She didn't have the _slightest_ idea, who this girl was, but seeing her, and her unnaturally red hair, brought up nothing but painful memories of Greta and Sean—her perpetual tormentors from high school back in Florida.

"I told you," Clara added heatedly, fueled by Riley's intensity, "I'm_ going_ to call the police if you don't leave _right now_."

"We're just leaving," JJ insisted, taking her friend's shoulder. "C'mon, Lissa."

That name was the trigger for Riley to lunge across the table, hands out and poised to wrap around the red-head's delicate throat.

"Riley!" Clara dove forward; her arms wrapped around her leader's waist and she strained to push her back into the seat.

Lissa had fallen back in her chair in surprise, her eyes as wide as saucers. "We're going!" she squeaked. JJ helped her rise shakily to her feet and sweep up their things; then they were gone, off to the other end of the food court.

Riley sat back heavily, her breathing harsh and uneven. "_Want to kill her_," she grumbled, her furious eyes trained on the spot that girl had vacated just moments before.

"She's gone, Max," Clara murmured soothingly, patting the elder girl's shoulder. "What was that _about_, anyway? You look like you want her to die or something!"

Instead of snapping, which was what Clara had feared she would do, Riley crumpled against her chair back, her eyes pinching shut. "He kissed her, Nudge," she said softly. "He kissed _her_. _Her!_"

"Max, snap out of it!" The fourteen-year-old clapped her hands in front of her leader's face, frowning at the theatrics. "He was talking to somebody on Monday, somebody that wasn't you. I know it wasn't you because he sounded so surprised when he said your name. He'd called her 'Angel.' Who were you with on Monday, Max?"

Riley's anger melted away at this, and an excited smile bloomed in its place. She sat up straight, facing her friend with that small grin. "I found them, Nudge," she said excitedly. "I found the others in the picture. Angel, Gazzy, and Iggy. They're _here_, Nudge!"

"_What?_"

Riley nodded again, beaming so hard now that her cheeks hurt. "We need to get together, right away! Are you doing anything tomorrow morning? It's Thanksgiving, but we're all free that morning."

Clara blushed. "I'm sorry, Max," she said, her face crumpling with her elation. "We're going to eat together for brunch and then we're heading out to the game. My friend's sister got box tickets."

"You're going to the football game tomorrow?"

Why did she still sound excited? The fourteen-year-old replied slowly, "Yeah…"

"Ig is, too! Well, he goes by Aiden now. Maybe you'll see him there." Riley clasped her friend's hands across the table, glancing at her watch quickly. She gave a little frown. "Shit. I have to go; Rachel is looking for me. Older sisters." With a roll of her eyes, she stood, still holding onto Clara's hands tightly. She was surprised to find the girl's eyes moist with tears.

"Max… what are we going to do? I'm not staying here much longer!" The younger girl bit her lip, brushing away the tears that hadn't fallen yet.

"Nudge," the young woman said seriously, taking her friend by the shoulders. "Just hang tight, okay? We'll find a way to work this all out. I _promise_."

Clara nodded carefully, smiling a little as she did. "Okay."

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Owen lumbered downstairs lazily, yawning and stretching his arms above his head. When he walked into the two-story apartment's kitchen, he found his father sitting at the island, sipping black coffee.

"Good morning, Owen," Mr. Ashwood said, glancing up from the paper. His eyes narrowed when they landed on his son's haggard face, glancing at the oven clock. "It's almost one. Have you been getting any sleep?"

Owen shrugged, making himself a quick cup of coffee before leaning up against the sink, facing his father. He could tell the man what happened, about the only girl he'd ever loved breaking his heart in two and the strange information her possible sister had given him that kept him up half the night, but he didn't think any of it was the business man's problem. "I'm not that tired," he deadpanned.

"Owen, what happened yesterday?" Mr. Ashwood's voice was calm, calculating. He set down his newspaper and clasped his hands on the counter.

"I don't know."

"Son…" The man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Sir…" Owen still wouldn't call him 'dad.'

His father frowned, not finding it funny. "Owen, I can't help if you don't let me. I'd like for you to at least _talk_ to me."

The seventeen-year-old raised an eyebrow, draining the last of his coffee and setting the mug in the sink. "And I'd like it," he said flatly, "if I could fly away and get the hell out of here and away from all this crap. But I can't, and I deal. So should you." He stalked back upstairs without another word.

Jeb Batchelder picked up the newspaper, folding it in half and tossing it into the recycling bin. Had Fang always been this difficult? What happened to that quiet little boy from the E-shaped house? Where was the kid who stuck to his daughter's side like glue? When had this young man become so _angsty_?

If Jeb was really looking for answers, he only had himself to blame. He was stunned he hadn't gotten hell yet for the stunt he was pulling.

_BRRRRIIIINNNG!_

_There_ goes the hell.

Jeb picked up the cordless phone from its cradle and put it up to his ear. "Yes?"

"Jeb, thank god. I haven't heard from him in nearly two days! What's going on?" Her voice came out low and dangerous. "What kind of stunt are you trying to pull? You're lucky I haven't reported you already! Don't _test_ me, Jeb."

"There's no stunt, Phoebe." Jeb's words were weary as he rubbed at his eyes, looking over at the stairs. "Is it a bad thing that I just want to be the kind of father I never could for my own children?"

"We all want things, Jeb. How would my sister feel if she knew I've masqueraded as the mother to her lost son for the past year and a half? _Lord_ knows I want to tell her. But I can't, or _else_. And _you_ know how that feels."

"Yes," he replied stiffly. "All right, I understand. I can't push my luck anymore. Would you like to speak with him? He could use some motherly insight at the moment. Maybe he'll tell you what's going on."

"That'd be lovely. It's always nice to have _some_ form of truth in my weekly reports."

Jeb nearly smiled as he walked up the creaky, hard-wood stairs. "You know, Phoebe, I really can't thank you enough for—"

"Yeah, yeah, cut the flattery, Jeb. Just let me talk to my nephew."

Jeb nodded, though she couldn't see, and knocked on the guest room door. "Phone!"

Fang opened up the door with a raised eyebrow. Those bags under his eyes were still deep and dark, and his mouth was twisted into a sarcastic smile. "What, so I'm a little kid who gets play dates set up for him now? Are you in denial or something?"

"It's your mother." Jeb's expression hardened, and he handed over the phone.

Fang nodded, putting the phone up to his ear and turning his back on the hall. "Hey, mom… yeah." He looked over his shoulder, noting Jeb's presence, before swiftly slamming the door shut.

Jeb sighed heavily. As he walked back down to the kitchen, he wondered quietly to himself, "What have you done, Jeb? You tore the apart the greatest miracles the world has ever seen, the only ones that could save us from ourselves." He looked out of the one floor-to-ceiling window in the whole apartment, the one that looked down on the city below, where cars rolled sluggishly by and blared endlessly on their horns. A tiny metal beehive, doomed to extinction because _he_ didn't want them to kill his daughter.

"You've cursed the world, Jeb," the scientist muttered bitterly. "You've damned us all to hell."

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

This is gonna be another short one today, too. There are only three chapters left! Goodness, I am SO, unbelievably excited for this. It's really been so fantastic looking over everything and just _remembering_ how much I love this story, you know? I hope reading this (whether it be the first time or the third time) makes you feel the same as it did for me. If it's the one thing I tried to accomplish here, it was to get you to _react_ to this story, to think and work out all the pieces. Hopefully the sequel will be able to live up to your expectations. :)

All right, everybody. The three-part finale starts next!

Your faithful author,

Lea


	30. 25: On Your Mark

**I have to thank the NFL website for my silly boy chatter. :) Ahh, youth.**

**Also, (teehee!) there are some swears, here, too. (Is it bad that I find the context they're used in funny? I'm reading this over and laughing to myself…)**

**The theme song for this chapter is "There and Back Again" by Daughtry.**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Incredible**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Chapter Twenty-Five: On Your Mark**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

_Then she slammed her cell phone shut, and threw it across the room._

_Just before it crashed through the window, Mike—who'd backed away along with his sister and Aiden when Riley began to shout—shot out a hand and plucked it out of the air._

**Thursday, November 25****th****, 2010**

"Aiden, are you sure you'll be okay?" Mrs. Wallace's voice came from straight in front of him. Her hands patted his shoulders gently. "You know you can always—"

"I'm not a little kid, Di." Aiden shrugged out of her hold. "I'll be okay."

"I know, it's just…" Then her arms were wrapping around his torso, and she pulled him close. "I can't believe how old you are," she said softly. Then her warmth was gone, and the floor shifted as she stepped back. "You'll have fun, and we'll call if we see you on TV."

That got the kids' attention. "Aiden's gonna be on _TV_?" Jill asked, incredulous, from somewhere off to the right. "_I_ wanna go to the game, too!"

"Sorry, Jilly." Zack came up from Aiden's left and tapped his elbow. "We've gotta get going. Besides, this is a special trip. Aiden won these tickets."

"Well, _I_ wanna win tickets to something," Jill muttered. Then her voice perked up. "Buh-bye Aiden, buh-bye Zack! Tell Frank I say bye, too!"

That little exclamation lead to the chorus of 'bye's and seven pairs of arms wrapping themselves around Aiden's waist before he could finally slip out the front door.

"You know, it's going to be loud," Zack pointed out quietly. His breathing was light, but his footsteps suggested that he slumped a little, maybe with hands in his pockets? "If you're feeling sick or headachy or anything…"

"Di told you to say that, didn't she?"

The grin was obvious in the fifteen-year-old's voice as he replied, "She's not that sneaky, is she?"

"Not so much."

And the boys began to laugh as they crossed the yard. "What's so funny?" Frank's confused voice came from what was supposedly the back seat of the SUV.

"Your mom. Now scoot over, squirt," Zack instructed, then a click and _swish_ as the back door for the car opened up. Aiden's hand easily found the handle for the passenger-side door, and he hiked himself into the car.

The score to the half-hour drive to the stadium was supplied by Zack and Frank, both discussing the merits of Miles Austin, Tony Romo, and Marion Barber.

"The Bears have rushed the ball more than the Cowboys. Our defense needs to be solid tonight," Frank began, popping open his soda and taking a long sip.

"Dude," Zack laughed, "It's the _Bears_. When's the last time they went to the Super Bowl?"

"Three years ago—"

"Well, they haven't won it since eighty-six. What have we got to worry about?"

"But they could still win—"

"It's the _Bears_, Frank. Chill. It's not like you placed money on the game or anything." Zack's voice turned suspicious. "You _didn't_ bet on the game, did you?"

"Not money," Frank sighed. "Sarah bet me with chores. Bears win, she's off the hook. Cowboys win, and I go chore-free 'till Christmas."

Mr. Wallace chuckled in the front seat, and Aiden turned his head. This was the point in time when he really felt out-of-place. Never once had he actually sat down and watched a football game. Wasn't it kind of pointless, anyway? He couldn't _see_ the players. He'd have no idea what was going on unless the announcer was shouting, and even then the words got all scrambled together, like eggs.

Maybe Zack or Frank could tell him what was going on, just like… never mind. Aiden promised himself he wouldn't think about him, not since hearing how badly he hurt Max. He still couldn't remember exactly what happened before, but hearing her cry like that on Monday, holding her while she shook, it at least reminded him how despicable Fang was.

"All righty, boys," Mr. Wallace said, his hands shifting on the steering wheel. His voice was directed into the back of the car. "Who's got the tickets?"

Aiden almost heard Frank's jaw hit the ground. "You _don't have the tickets_?"

Their foster-father laughed lightly. "I was just checking to make sure _you_ knew who had them. Here are the tickets."

Then that smooth piece of paper was slid into his fingers, and Aiden's worries just flew away. For one night, maybe for the first time in his life, he'd be normal. Tonight, as Sarah had said, he'd actually _live_.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Clara bounced on her heels, her arms crossed impatiently over her chest. "I _hate_ waiting," she muttered, causing Danika to laugh.

"Clara, the doors are opening in a few minutes!" she giggled, tugging at the sleeve of her new shirt. "C'mon, just chillax."

"I know, I know." Clara sighed, and she thought to the day before, where Max had said something very similar.

_Just hang tight. We'll work this out._

Those were her parting words after their far-too-short chat, the one they'd had while Danika and Ms. Hyatt were under the impression that Clara had gone to the bathroom.

_Hang tight_. It was never something Clara did very well. Because sitting still meant silence, and that never boded well with her. The silence meant the ringing in her ears would start up again, only to get drowned out by those horrendous screams. She shuddered.

"You cold, Clara?" Ms. Hyatt asked, her brow pulled together in motherly-worry. _Max did the same thing yesterday_, Clara thought distractedly before replying, "No, I'm fine."

Suddenly, Danika gave a tiny gasp and squeezed her friend's arm. "What?" Clara demanded, irritated at the outburst.

"Look!" Her eyes were wide, and her cheeks flush a bright pink. "Okay, is it just me or is he _smoking_ hot?" Danika breathed, so neither her mother nor her sister would hear.

Clara followed her friend's gaze to where three guys and a middle-aged man were standing. Two of them seemed to be about their age, or a little older, and Danika was staring hungrily at the taller one with curly brown hair. But the last guy, who was really a young man, could have been Max's age.

In fact… Clara's heart stopped for a moment. She _knew_ him; that tall, bleached-out boy with the cloudy blue eyes and the light, orange-blonde hair.

Before she knew what she was doing, Clara had walked out of her friend's grasp, towards the other end of the cement. But then she was jogging, then running. "Iggy!" The name exploded from her lips, and then she was throwing her arms around his waist. "Oh, my _God_, Iggy!"

He stiffened like a board, then gave a shocked little whisper, "Nudge?"

Clara looked up—he was nearly a head taller than her—to find his sightless eyes crinkled at the edges, a wide grin splitting his face. "Who else could it _be_, Ig?" She beamed, nearly bouncing with the sheer _joy_ of finding him. Just like with Max, with Fang. She was slowly but surely becoming herself again. This trip really _was_ all she'd hoped it would be. "Max told me you were here, but I _never_ expected to actually _see_ you!"

"Um, who are you?" asked the curly-haired guy who had Danika drooling.

It was Aiden who intervened. "Chill, Zack. This is…"

"Clara," she supplied easily, then hurriedly wracked her brain for the name Max had said Iggy went by. _Oh, yeah!_ "Aiden and I were… neighbors when we were little." _Yeah, cage neighbors._

"'Kay," the guy called Zack replied, not looking very convinced. After all, his foster-brother had just met up with a bunch of 'neighbors' within the past week. One would think it was a little too coincidental.

"Clara!"

The fourteen-year-old cursed as Danika called her name. "Ig, I've gotta—"

"It's okay," Aiden interrupted. "Where are you sitting? We can hang out if you're close by."

"Um, we're in a box."

"Oh."

"How about I call you?"

"Sure," Iggy grinned, pulling his phone from his back pocket and handing it to Clara. She quickly programmed her number in. For fun, she went through and set a ringtone for herself.

"Here," she said with a smile, handing Iggy his phone back. "I'm the ka-boom set on full volume."

He chuckled, just as Danika called again. "Clara!"

"I'll see you later?"

Iggy nodded. "Later, Nudge."

As she rushed back to her bewildered friends and spun a quick tale to cover up her reunion with Iggy, Clara couldn't help but remark how, for the first time, she actually liked the sound of her real name.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

"Ticket?"

Owen handed over his shiny, crimped piece of paper to the collector. The man tore off the stub and handed it back, pointing over to the left. "You're down the third set of stairs on your right. Section C111."

"Thanks," Owen said with a nod, while his father was already heading for the stairs.

When he caught up with his father, Mr. Ashwood asked, "Do you want to get anything to drink?"

"I guess," the seventeen-year-old assented as they passed the stairs in favor of stepping into the line for concessions.

"What would you like?" the older man asked absentmindedly as he counted up the singles in his wallet.

"A hotdog or two, some nachos, and maybe a large Coke." Owen shrugged. "I'm not really that hungry."

His father nearly snorted. "You're _not_ hungry? Two hotdogs _and_ nachos?"

Owen frowned and hedged, "Yeah."

Before Mr. Ashwood could reply, someone collided with his back, causing him to stumble forward. "Excuse me?" Though he wasn't in his business suit, Mr. Ashwood carried himself in a way that showed he _meant_ business. His voice was stern as he spun around to interrogate the boy who stumbled into him.

"Sorry, um, sir," said the boy, who couldn't have been more than fourteen.

_Nudge's age_, Owen noticed with surprise.

"I didn't mean to, I tripped," the boy continued.

The young man standing directly behind him piped up, "What, Frank, did you trip over your feet again? I thought Sarah scared you into permanently keeping your shoes tied."

While Frank grumbled, "Shut it, Aiden," Owen analyzed the boy's companion. This one was taller than Owen by a few inches, which was a feat. The pale face, those sightless blue eyes, the spiky, orange-blonde hair; it all added together, to make something Owen couldn't quite believe. _The boy from the picture_.

"Iggy?"

Frank looked back at Aiden in surprise. "How does _everyone_ know you?" But he wasn't listening. No, Aiden was busy stepping forward to swing a punch at the bastard who ripped his family to shreds.

Owen had turned around to look for his dad—who had mysteriously disappeared—so he didn't expect the fist that came _smack_ into the back of his head. But when angry knuckles slammed into his skull, he couldn't _not_ take notice.

"Hey!" Owen shouted, spinning about-face and grabbing Aiden's fist before it could make contact with his nose. "What's your problem?"

"What's _my_ problem?" Aiden growled dangerously. "You fucking asshole!" He brought his fist hard into Owen's stomach.

_Okay, now the gloves are off_.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded, jabbing his fist into the idiot's shoulder.

"You didn't see her!" Aiden snarled, swiping with eerie precision to jab into his side. "You didn't see how _broken_ you made her! You were so _selfish!_ You didn't think about how _screwed_ we would be when she wasn't at her _best!_"

Owen lunged forward, knocking Aiden to the ground. "I was trying to _protect_ her! I wanted you all to be _safe!_"

"_Safe? Safe?_" the pale young man exclaimed, wishing so desperately that he could _see_ that bastard when he kicked his head in. "We definitely weren't _safe_ when they came out of nowhere and took us back to the _Goddamn_ School!" He gave a violent push to Owen's chest, and the dark young man tumbled to the side.

"They got you, too?"

It was quiet, shocked.

"What did you expect?" Aiden muttered, without his previous venom. "You tore us apart, Fang."

Then the security guards were pulling the boys to their feet, pushing them away from each other.

The younger boy, Frank, grabbed Aiden's arm and led him away.

Before he was too far, Owen heard himself mutter, "I know, Ig. And I regret it every day."

Aiden turned at the sound of the voice. His eyes were stern, and for one inexplicable moment, they met Owen's dead-on. "Then why don't you tell _her_ that?"

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Ooooh! (Sorry, had to do that.)

Okay, this one is gonna be short because there are only TWO MORE CHAPTERS! WOOHOO! *does a dance* I'm still loving everyone's different POV's. It is just me, or is Danika a nut? I think she's a little wacky, but then again, _I_ wrote her, so…

Anyway, who liked the fight scene? (There's another one coming up. And it is rather epic, if I do say so myself.)

Ehh, I'm all out of stuff to say to you. ON WITH THE NEXT CHAPTER! (It's the second part of the finale, folks!)

Your faithful author,

Lea


	31. 26: Get Set

**I don't own my shameless allusion to Lilo & Stitch, though it is one of my favorite movies, like, EVER.**

**The theme song for this chapter is "All Or Nothing" by Theory of a Deadman.**

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**Incredible**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Get Set**

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

_Then she slammed her cell phone shut, and threw it across the room._

_Just before it crashed through the window, Mike—who'd backed away along with his sister and Aiden when Riley began to shout—shot out a hand and plucked it out of the air._

**Thursday, November 25****th****, 2010**

"C'mon, Ange, the game's starting!" Mike announced from his spot on the living room couch. His plate—laden with heaps of mashed potatoes, corn, turkey, stuffing, and every other Thanksgiving staple—was balancing precariously on his knees.

"I'm coming!" his sister called, trotting into the room with her own small mountain of food.

Mike grinned, and turned up the volume on the television.

As Izzy sat down next to her brother, she frowned. "Do you remember that Thanksgiving, Gazzy? The one with everyone, when we were in Virginia?"

Mike was quiet for a moment, staring down at his plate. He almost, _almost_ knew what she was talking about. The cogs in the back of his kind were churning, but so far, they weren't brining up anything. "Not really, but I think I sort of know what you're talking about," he admitted.

Izzy nodded, not deterred in the slightest. "We all sat around the table loaded with homemade food and gave thanks for being together and being safe. We were all _together_, Gaz. I just…" Her voice became quiet, small, and Mike was reminded that his sister _was_ only nine. "I just wish we could have that."

Her brother stiffened, looping an arm around her stooped shoulders. "It's not our fault that Mom's too busy for us. It's not our fault that she gave us a store-bought Thanksgiving meal. We can make do just fine without her, Angel. Don't forget that. We were without Jeb for two whole years, and we're still here. You know what? I promise that, for Christmas, we'll all be together—you, me, and the flock—and we'll have a huge meal and we won't have a care in the world. I promise you," he said solemnly, looking straight into his sister's sad blue eyes. "Okay?"

Izzy's face instantly brightened, and she pecked a kiss on her brother's cheek. "Thanks, Gazzy."

"No problem," Mike said with a little wince at his sister's mushiness.

"You're such a boy!" she laughed.

He rolled his eyes, dug into his instant mashed potatoes, and commented drily, "You're such a girl."

In the lull after their conversation, both eyes eagerly turned towards the television screen. "Max said Nudge is at the game, too. But Nudge has a box, so we might not see her. But we might be able to see Aiden." Mike said this reverently before popping a piece of turkey into his mouth. His eyes scanned the stands, looking for the members of the flock.

Izzy looked, too. But a horrible sense of déjà vu hit her in the stomach. "Gasman?"

"Hmm?" He looked over at his sister, his head cocked to one side.

"Nudge is going home tomorrow. And Max is leaving on Saturday. We'll still have Iggy, but… it won't be the flock without Max and Nudge." She didn't meet her brother's gaze as she spoke, instead facing the television, which now showed the uniformed men racing around the field with an oblong ball. "Gazzy, what will we do when they leave? I can't let Max go home." Her voice cracked, and she hiccupped dangerously. Her eyes filled with tears, but she persisted. "I just can't. I haven't said I'm sorry yet, Gazzy. It's because of me that everything happened. I was stupid, I tried to be something I never could, and… it killed us, Gazzy. I ruined us. I'm a monster!" she wailed, sobbing over her dinner.

"Angel!" Mike moved their plates to the carpet and turned his sister by the shoulders so she faced him. His eyes flickered over to the hallway, at the end of which their mother was holed up in her study. She hadn't emerged yet since arriving home with dinner, around four. "Angel," he repeated softly, "Max won't let us be split up again. She's the Incredible Max! And we're her flock, and we stick together. Like in that movie with the blue alien and the little Hawaiian girl. The flock means we're best friends and we're _family_. We stick together like glue, got it?" Izzy nodded feebly, and Mike gave her shoulders a little shake. "We've got this, Ange. Don't worry. Max will figure out a way for us to stay together."

His sister leaned forward and wrapped her skinny arms around his shoulders. "Thanks, Gasman," she said softly.

Mike gave his sister a tight, reassuring hug. _I'm not going to let us get split up,_ he thought fiercely.

In his mind, he could almost feel Izzy smiling. _I know_, said the little voice in his head.

This time, though, he wasn't surprised. This was Angel, his sister, and this was her way of saying that she was going to be okay.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Thanksgiving dinner was a solemn affair at the Kimmel household. Rose and Rachel and Mrs. Kimmel set the table, spreading decadent platters across the wood. Riley laid out her sister's good china and carefully placed all the silverware on the linen napkins. Mr. Kimmel and Isaac sat in front of the television, watching the afternoon football games. Then they all sat around the beautiful table and dug in.

No one said a word.

Riley wanted to scream.

So, after what amounted to the _worst_ Thanksgiving dinner Riley ever had, she glanced up at the clock and bolted for the living room. She slammed her palm onto the power button for the television and quickly changed it to the local channel, where they'd be broadcasting the Cowboys-Bears game.

"Riley!" her mother called from the living room, but the seventeen-year-old was already blasting the volume on the TV. She lunged across the coffee table to pluck the home phone from its cradle.

Her fingers easily dialed up Rebecca's number.

"Yeah?" Becca's voice sounded muffled, and a chorus of raucous laughter erupted from the background.

"Where are you, Becca?" Riley asked, her brow furrowing as her eyes scanned the edges of the televised game for a familiar face.

"A sports bar. Thought I'd go all-out, ya know?" she gave a tiny laugh. "How was dinner?"

Riley's voice dropped to a whisper. "Awful," she admitted.

"Riles, I'm sorry."

"You know what?" Riley's pitched her voice a little louder, so it carried into the dining room. "I don't care anymore. They can be all mood-swingy and silent and hate you, but I am not going to play their stupid games."

Becca's voice grew quiet, shocked, utterly grateful when she said, "Riley, thank you." There was another roar from behind her, and both girls attention turned back to the television screen.

"Bears got a touchdown?" Riley asked, watching as the teams split up, one to rejoice and the other to grumble back to their coach.

"I'm guessing," Rebecca laughed. "I think a lot of guys here placed bets on the game. They'll be mad if the Bears win."

"Maybe you should skedaddle before the game ends, then," Riley advised carefully. "Don't get hurt or anything."

"I'll be fine, Riles, don't worry. I'm a big girl; I can take care of myself."

"I know. Sorry."

"It's okay. So, hey, how's school going? I never got to ask."

"Oh." Riley's glared at the TV, where the teams were setting up for a new play. "It's school. Not much has changed since you left. People are still jerks, and I still hate the system." She sighed, her gaze turning down to the carpet. "Sometimes… sometimes I just can't take it, Bex. Sometimes I just want to scream and run out of there and spread my wings out and fly away. School is... not the best choice for a name."

Rebecca's tone became thoughtful. "You know, you sound familiar. Like an old friend or something. You remind me of…" She stopped abruptly.

"Who?"

"It doesn't matter," was her bitter reply. "Just forget it, okay?"

"Oh, Bex," Riley sighed. "This isn't about when you were younger, was it?"

"I was _sixteen_. And why does it matter?"

"Bex, you're schizophrenic."

"No, I _was_ schizophrenic. They… it… the medicine worked."

Riley bit her lip, knowing when it was better not to push the issue. But… the truth of the matter was that Becca talked to herself for most of her sixteenth and about half of her seventeenth year. She wouldn't tell her parents—or anyone, for that matter—who she was talking to. She claimed they wouldn't be able to understand. Maybe she was right, but her parents sent her to a shrink and put her on medication anyway. Then, she just stopped. The mutterings and the spacing out just stopped, even after she finished her prescription. She said the voices stopped talking to her.

"Sorry," Riley whispered. "That was crossing the line, Bex."

"Yeah." The nineteen-year-old paused for a moment. "Riles, I have to tell you the truth. Those voices were—"

But Riley wasn't listening. She was staring slack-jawed at the television, shakily holding the remote in her free hand. Her thumb crashed down on the pause button and the screen stuck. The camera froze looking directly at the stands right behind the Cowboys, who filled the bottom half of the screen in a huddle. Riley's eyes couldn't have been open any wider as her gaze narrowed in on the one person she'd yet to be reunited with.

The phone clattered to the floor as her pocket began to buzz.

While Becca's concerned "What's going on?" came from the phone on the floor, Riley placed her cell to her ear. "What?"

"Max!"

"Angel!"

"Did you see—"

"Yeah."

"Well?"

"I—"

"Aren't you gonna—"

"Y-yeah."

"When—"

"Five."

"See you!"

"Be ready."

"Bye!"

Riley snapped her cell phone shut and sprinted to the garage. As she passed the dining room, her father called her name, but she didn't stop. She flew past the kitchen and grabbed Rachel's keys off the counter. She hurriedly jammed her finger onto the unlock button and lunged into the car, sticking the keys into the ignition and gunning the engine in one swift movement. A moment later, she was peeling out of the driveway at sixty miles an hour.

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Mrs. Conroy was startled from her computer monitor when a set of tires screeched up to the house. She rushed to the window to see a silver Sedan idling in her driveway. A blonde-haired young woman sat in the driver's seat, looking paranoid and nauseous and anxious. Then the front door slammed, and Izzy and Mike were sprinting across the lawn and into the car.

"_Go!_" Izzy exclaimed as she buckled in.

Then the car roared out of the driveway, and raced down the road.

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

Well., guys, this is it! I think I've made it slightly clearer who Riley saw on TV. Do you guys know? (*evil laugh*)

Believe it or not, that brother-sister moment between Gazzy and Angel actually will come in to play in the future. It wasn't there just as a filler (although it did help a lot).

But really, I am SUPER excited. The last chapter is one of my favorites. (Right up there with Chapter 22. Hahaha… wait. OH MY GOD! I get to start in on Indescribable soon! Holy cow! *bites on fingernails*)

Yeah, that's all I have to say for you. THE NEXT CHAPER IS THE LAST ONE, GUYS! Well, and that.

Your faithful author,

Lea


	32. 27: Kick Ass

My note to you will be up top today, just to shake things up a little bit. :)

You know that conversation between Max and Angel, right at the end of the last chapter? It's a bit confusing, isn't it? Here's a little translation for ya (**bolded** words were taken directly from the text):

Angel:**Max!**

Max:**Angel!**

Angel:**Did you see** him?

Max: **Yeah.**

Angel: **Well?** Are you going to the game?

Max: **I**don't know.

Angel: **Aren't you gonna** come get us?

Max: **Y-yeah, **I'm coming.

Angel: **When**will you get here?

Max: **Five**minutes.

Angel: **See you!**

Max: **Be ready.**

Angel: **Bye!**

Hopefully that clears up a little confusion.

Now, good God, guys, this is the last chapter! We're here, and we're actually DONE! Oh my god. *wipes at eyes* Hands down, this is my favorite chapter. (Sorry, there, 22!) This is also my longest chapter, and that's pretty awesome (if I do say so myself).

For today's review, I'd like you to answer a couple of questions for me:

**1)** What got you interested in reading this story?

**2)** What kept you interested in the story?

**3)**What is my best quality, as a writer? What about my writing works?

**4)** What is my worst quality, as a writer? What about my writing _doesn't_ work?

**5)** Which is your favorite chapter, and why?

**6)** Who is your favorite character, and why?

**Also**, tell me any over-all things you liked/didn't about this story, hopes for the rest of the trilogy, thoughts on any plot holes (I have left many). Anything you feel I should know that I need to work on as I tackle the sequel and beyond!

This would be very much appreciated, thank you. :) (The sequel is really close, guys! I can feel it!)

Lots of Love, your faithful author,

Lea

**

* * *

The theme song for this chapter is "You Better Pray" by The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus.**

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**Incredible**

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Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

"Go!_" Izzy exclaimed as she buckled in._

_Then the car roared out of the driveway, and raced down the road._

**Thursday, November 25****th****, 2010**

Riley's heart pounded furiously as she drove, the blood thumping in her ears so loud she could barely think, let alone hear Izzy, who was yelling out directions.

_He's here. He's actually here!_

Then, as they screeched to a stop in front of the stadium, something in her shifted. The world turned red around the edges, and her hands formed into tight fists. He was _here_. He actually had the _nerve_ to come back, after leaving them for _four frickin' months!_ That _asshole!_

_I'm gonna get him._

She sprang out of the car, ready to tear apart _anyone_ who stood in her way of kicking his _ass_, but two calm, warm hands wove through her fingers and pulled back. Tighter than a spring, she furiously looked to find Izzy and Mike holding on for dear life.

"Max," Izzy's calm voice insisted with imploring blue eyes, "take a deep breath. We need to lock up the car, and we need to find a way to get in without tickets."

"But…" Riley's eyes darted back to the door. He was somewhere inside. She _knew_ it. And he had _no_ idea what was coming for him.

"I know," Izzy murmured gently. "I want to see him, too. And Max, I think I can get us in."

Her brother nodded and added, "We just need to play cool, Max. And that doesn't work if you look like you're out for blood."

That got the words to hit home. _She can get us in; she can get us closer to him than I can._ The seventeen-year-old nodded robotically, and Mike's hand wormed through her clenched fingers to extract the Sedan's keys. He dashed around the vehicle, re-slamming all the doors before locking up the car with an obnoxious _HONK!_ Then the trooper took up his position at his leader's right, handing back the keys.

His sister smiled as Riley pocketed her keys, and lead the little procession forward, into the building. "Don't worry, I've got this," she said softly to the two of them. She then winked and fixed a pleasant, excited smile on her face. Mike did the same, but all the seventeen-year-old could accomplish was wiping all emotion clean off her face.

"Ticket," said a man in a blue vest, looking gloomily over his shoulder as a roar erupted from the stadium.

Izzy frowned, her narrow brow puckering in confusion. "But, sir, we already gave you our tickets," she said innocently.

"You did?" The man's eyes hardened as he tried to remember, but as he opened his mouth to deny Izzy's utterly false claim, his face slackened.

"We already gave you our tickets," the nine-year-old repeated calmly. Her eyes flashed, but her fingers curled confidently in her leader's hand.

"You already gave your tickets," the man stated flatly, his eyes unfocused.

"We're going to our seats now. You won't remember us. We were just three more faces in the crowd."

"Seats…" He nodded. "Three more faces…"

Riley was vaguely aware that this was wrong, that Izzy _shouldn't_ be doing this, that she had to _stop_. But before she could react, it was over and the little girl was yanking them to the right, around the corner.

While Izzy was tense and Riley was focusing solely on how she was going to disembowel that _asshole,_ Mike was furious, with a clenched jaw and blazing eyes, and he ground out, "Don't do that again, Ange." He glared at the wall, crossing his arms angrily. "Don't _ever_ do that again."

"But you _told_ me to!" Izzy exclaimed incredulously. "You were the one who suggested—"

"I know, and I was wrong. _Don't_ do it again." The finality in his tone ended the conversation.

Riley blinked at the pair. Something had changed; they'd grown up. What had _happened_? Then the announcer's voice boomed, and her mind snapped back to _him_. She straightened, her ears pricking to the cheers. He was _so close_.

She stepped away from the brother and sister, moving towards the closest set of stairs.

"Wait, Max!" Mike latched onto her hand, his anger at his sister temporarily forgotten. "We don't know where he is yet. You said Nudge and Iggy are here, too. Let's call them first."

Riley's face contorted in anxiety. Her fingers were twitching. She _had to move!_

"We'll be really fast, Max," Izzy whispered.

The seventeen-year-old gave a short nod, fumbled to fork over her phone, and began pacing in a small circle as Mike dialed. She had to get rid of her nervous energy. _Have to see him, have to see him now!_

The trooper put the phone up to his ear as a voice on the other end said, "Max?"

Mike felt himself grinning when her voice burst from the speakers. "Nope, it's Gazzy."

"Gazzy!" was the answering squeal.

"Hi, Nudge. Listen, where are you?"

"At the—"

"No, _where_ in the stadium are you?"

"Oh, I'm on the Silver Level, in a box," she replied easily. "Wait, why?" There was a hint of suspicion in her voice.

"Um," Mike cast a glance over at Riley, who had her fists pressed to her eyes as she hissed in a breath. "We're between the Pro Shop and the women's bathroom, on the Main Level."

"_WHAT_?"

"Can you meet us? We—Max is kinda… she needs you to get here fast."

"Of course! I'll be right there. But, well, do you want Iggy, too? I can grab him and get to you guys in like five minutes."

"You've seen him?"

"Yeah!" Her voice became distracted. "Oh, oh, oh! N-no! Dangit, we fumbled. Damn Bears can't hold onto the ball! I mean, whoops! _Darn_ Bears. Ha-ha. Sorry, Gasser."

"_Nudge_," Mike insisted.

"Right, right! Iggy, then you." Nudge's voice changed, her flustered tone softening. "Hey, don't worry, okay, Gazzy? We're all gonna be okay."

"Thanks, Nudge."

"No problem, see you soon!" When they hung up, Mike made to hand the phone back to Riley, but stopped when he saw how she was bent forward, squeezing at her head. He turned to his sister instead as he slipped the phone into his pocket.

Izzy's eyes were contorted in pain. "She's hurting. Her head's… exploding. I don't know why. But… I feel like I should be getting these, too." She shook her blonde, curly head, looking at her sneakered toes. "What did Nudge say?"

"She's getting Ig. They'll be here soon."

They both turned back to their leader, who was holding back tears of pain as she hissed and gasped like a vacuum on it last leg. "Max?" Izzy asked tentatively, crouching down and placing a hand on the shuddering young woman's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"No." It was a croak; an angry, pained, dry-throated cough. Her eyes were still squeezed shut, but she un-cemented her lips enough to let a few words slip through. "No. They won't be here fast enough. I can't wait. I _have_ to go find him. I _need_ to see him. Gaz, Angel." Riley's head snapped up, her eyes red-rimmed and wild. "I've gotta—"

"Max," Mike interrupted, kneeling as well, "just wait a minute. You can't go charging off, okay? Do you even know where he is?"

"Ten rows behind the players!" the seventeen-year-old shrieked, stumbling back as she stood. Her voice took on a manic urgency. "Look, I _can't_ wait for Nudge and Iggy. I _need_ to know where he is!"

"Max!" the siblings shouted in unison.

"No!" she exclaimed right back at them. _They don't understand._ "You didn't—you weren't—you—you—"

Then she was tearing down the hall, sprinting so fast her feet didn't always touch the ground. She had to get away. Oh, dear _God_ how she wanted to get away, to just fly so fast and so far that she could forget it all.

She would have been content to run forever, until she couldn't run anymore, but the huge hallway curved, straight into a mass of people. She dodged the confused, suspicious, disdainful glances as she darted between the bodies as quickly as possible. But someone leaned away and slid out their foot, catching the tip of Riley's shoe, and she tumbled forward.

A few people turned their heads and a mother stuck out her hand, but the seventeen-year-old didn't take it. As she climbed to her feet, she glanced around at the concession lines, and nearly stopped breathing.

For there he was, waiting in line to get a corn dog. He was still going for the bad-ass look with the black clothes and the calculatedly distant expression. His black, shaggy hair fell into his bored eyes, and his thumbs poked out of the pockets of his jeans.

She bit back the scream that was growing in her throat.

_He left me_.

He'd _ripped_ her heart out and danced on the blood. He'd disappeared off the face of the earth, leaving her with his _fucking_ laptop and that _Goddamn_ letter!

He'd said he loved her. He'd said she was beautiful. He'd promised he wouldn't leave.

So what did he do? He _left!_ Then they came, and took them away, and ripped them apart, and _destroyed _ever piece of sanity they had left!

_It is all his fault!_

_That liar. That _asshole_. That _bastard_! That no-good, lousy, lying, backstabbing, hateful, son-of-a—_

"FANG!"

Max's roar dripped with bloodlust and a craving for revenge. Just as it slipped past her lips, that _traitor_ spun, his eyes wide and hopeful, only to have an enraged fist slam into his eye.

"You _bastard!_" She placed a well-aimed kick to his side.

Big mistake.

Owen brought his fist to her stomach, hearing the satisfying _whoosh_ of her breath leaving her lungs. She came back with a snap kick to his knee, hoping to send him to the ground, but he'd anticipated that. After all, they'd been each other's sparring partners for too long—they knew all their opponent's tricks. As she lunged, propelled forward by the momentum, he blocked the kick, grabbed around her middle, and tossed her over his shoulder.

Her enraged shriek in his ear, her violent struggles, and the kicks to his tailbone that he _hadn't_ seen coming caused him to collapse, and she rolled onto him.

It became a wrestling match, then, with the claws out. They were a tumbling, rolling mass of punching hands and kicking knees and shouting obscenities. Then he got her by the shoulders, and they flipped. He pinned her to the ground, and for the first time that night, their eyes locked.

His dark, betraying eyes flashed, and hers glinted furiously. But something shifted in his heated gaze. His eyes softened around the edges, and his hard-as-stone façade slipped, a tiny bit. He stared long and hard into her eyes, searching for something. _What?_

Then his lips smashed onto hers, and everything—her turbulent emotions, her frenzied thoughts, her thirst for blood—all flittered away into oblivion. There was nothing; nothing except lips on lips, hands in hair, her and him. Together. At long last. _Finally_.

His urgent lips awakened something fierce within her chest, and that something rocketed up her spine. It rampaged through her foggy mind, disintegrating locks and burning down the doors that had kept her in the dark for far, far too long. Images burned behind her eyelids, too many to keep track. She only caught snippets: a black-as-midnight wing; a long, white lab coat; a pair of innocent blue eyes; a gun glinting under fluorescent light; a sharp silver needle piercing her skin; a massive inferno raging down the into the gorge; a single finger of sharp, blinding light flashing across a drowning sky; an imperious castle under siege; the mother-of-all storms raging down upon them; the fierce emptiness of white; the swallowing blackness of submersion; a fiery, watery splash of freedom and hope and _life_ that stretched across the horizon; a single, ruby-red strawberry.

Next came the faces, ones she'd seen a lifetime ago: that twisted mix of little boy, full-grown man, ravenous wolf, and enormous bird; the aging man in the awful, satanic white lab coat; the warm mother with the soft brown eyes and the wide-open arms; the wolf in sheep's clothing, that woman with the lying brown eyes and too-thin blonde hair.; the dark-furred dog with that sarcastic little muzzle; the blonde-haired girl with the white-as-snow wings; the blue-eyes boy with the big, sneaky grin and fire at his back; the brown-skinned girl with the gaping mouth; the pale-as-no-tomorrow red-haired boy with the unseeing eyes and the all-knowing fingertips; the dark-haired boy with the thick obsidian his eyes that didn't miss a thing and always, always saw through her ruse.

Ari. Jeb. Mom. The Director. Total. Angel. Gasman. Nudge. Iggy. And—

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

I yanked away, gasping like a fish and pushing him off of me. He just lay there with wide eyes, his mouth slightly apart. In other words, he was _stunned_.

"Fang," I whispered, scrambling to my feet. I could hardly say it; my lips were almost too numb to move.

But seeing his whole face light up was worth it.

"Max."

Then he was up, standing, and crushing me into his arms. He muttered bitterly, "I'm sorry."

"I hate you," I told him, clenching the back of his sweatshirt in a death grip. Those Goddamn tears were coming, stinging my eyes and the back of my throat.

"I know," he replied while rubbing circles between my shoulder blades, just like he used to.

"I love you," I whispered into his chest, smoothing out my fingers and holding him ever closer.

His mouth grinned into my hair, and he planted a kiss on the crown of my head. "I love you, too."

While my heart stuttered to a halt in my chest at his admission, a four-part chorus yanked me away from him.

"_MAX!_"

Four new pairs of arms wound around my torso, and four beaming bird-kids nearly pulled me apart. Their words were jumbled, a tangled mess on my ears as my heart started up again, but I caught a few things. _I've missed you so much! I never want that to happen again! How could we let them tear us apart like that?_ But I heard Angel's voice, loud and clear, straight to my soul: "We're a _flock_ again, Max."

I pulled them all impossibly closer. She was right. Amazingly, against all odds, we had managed to find each other. We were together; we were whole. We _were_ a flock again.

Me, Max. Angel. Gazzy. Nudge. Iggy.

And maybe, possibly, there was a chance Fang might fit back into the mold, too. If my flock didn't rip him to pieces first.

Incredibly, I wasn't mad at him. I could barely explain it to myself, let alone Fang or the flock. I just didn't hate him like I thought I would. I didn't have a chance to.

Because I was mad. Oh _hell_, I was _furious_. But _not_ at Fang.

No.

Finding him, fighting him, kissing him, remembering… it all snapped things into perspective.

It wasn't _Fang_ who had split us up. It wasn't _Fang_ who took away our wings, our memories, and every possible piece of sanity we'd ever had. It wasn't _Fang_ who had corrupted everything we'd ever worked for.

It wasn't _Fang_. It was _Itex_.

And because the thing that destroyed my life was not my best friend, my right-wing man, but both the bane of and the reason for my existence, I allowed myself to get furious. I let the rage bubble up as Angel, Gazzy, Nudge, and Iggy all hugged me from four different sides. I didn't try to stop the hot hate that seared the back of my eyes. Why should I? They'd had the upper hand for too long.

But this time would be different.

This time, the incredible Maximum Ride was going to kick ass, and kick _hard_.

This time, she was out for blood.

And you can sure as _hell_ believe that she was going to get it.

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_**FIN**_

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	33. Interlude: Pounce

**The theme song for this chapter is "Take Me" by Papa Roach.**

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**Incredible**

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Rated T for language and violence.

She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.

But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**Interlude: Pounce**

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**Thursday, November 25****th****, 2010**

"_Max!_"

Angel's horrified shriek had me spinning from their arms, crouching into a fighting stance. I didn't know _what_ was coming, but I definitely _heard_ it when a roar split through the audience that had gathered around us. Though what I saw shove forward didn't click.

_What?_

They were supposed to be _gone_. We'd seen them get _retired_. Hell, I'd held my own _brother_ as he died! Don't you _even_ get me started on those two generations of awful replacements!

But all those improbabilities didn't stop those four Erasers from lunging forward, fully-morphed, with claws aimed straight for my throat.

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Basically, this was here to peeve people off. But it acts and my only transition to the sequel, which starts… *drum roll* Really soon!

Your faithful author,

Lea


	34. Cookie Contest Results

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**Cookie Contest Final Results**

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Prizes are at the end, just scroll down to the bottom once you find your name!

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**Cookie Champions (100+ cookies):**

**My Beta:** UnbrokenSilences- 500 cookies

(Who got so many cookies that the oven wouldn't make them for her anymore. Her total is really wa-a-a-a-ay higher than that.)

**First Place: **e-bubble97- 409 cookies

**Second Place: **MyDarkHeart- 267 cookies

**Third Place: **OnyxEagle01- 203 cookies

**Fourth Place: **InkDrinker- 172 cookies

**Fifth Place: **apbarium- 160 cookies

**Sixth Place: **Violetfangs- 136 cookies

**Seventh Place: **MaxRideFreak- 120 cookies

**Seventh Place: **something . creative- 120 cookies

**Eighth Place: **rosalinda316- 115 cookies

**Ninth Place:** flyingbopper1999- 105 cookies

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**Cookie Competitors (40-100 cookies)  
**(In Alphabetical Order)**:**

Animals Of The Night- 64 cookies… … … … …Bookaholic771- 41 cookies… … … … …Call Me Bitter- 73 cookies… … … … …CCMC- 97 cookies

Epic42- 59 cookies… … … … …Fnick's Witness- 79 cookies… … … … …jaywing- 56 cookies… … … … …Mebeemmy- 40 cookies

Overcome- 58 cookies… … … … …Readergirl99- 45 cookies… … … … …Xandra I. Guess- 44 cookies

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**Cookie Collectors (1-39 cookies)  
**(In Alphabetical Order)**:**

5253Racer- 12 cookies… … … … …alicerules1000- 2 cookies… … … … …AlwaysAndForeverXX- 16 cookies… … … … …Angel699006- 11 cookie

Azzycoco- 16 cookies… … … … …B3at m3 to d3ath- 2 cookies… … … … …babiixilyx3- 6 cookies… … … … …because-i-am- 11 cookie

Bittersweet Smile- 11 cookie… … … … …blueninja28- 11 cookie… … … … …Book Hunter- 11 cookie… … … … …bookworm842- 11 cookie

Cami18-maximumride- 18 cookies… … … … …Cassie-wa- 17 cookies… … … … …Contains Demons- 14 cookies… … … … …danni55- 17 cookies

DarkAngelsGoToHell98- 16 cookies… … … … …DestinysWings- 26 cookies… … … … …Diana-Bo-Banana- 18 cookies… … … … …Echo Of Insanity- 15 cookies

Fnick16-3 cookies… … … … …GINgerbreadNhippY630- 1 cookie… … … … …Ice-Wingz- 33 cookies… … … … …kami1012- 7 cookies… … … … …

Keeptappin92- 12 cookies… … … … …kelly young- 11 cookie… … … … …KENDRA1212- 6 cookie… … … … …KeyouiX- 11 cookie

Laxgrl2222- 16 cookies… … … … …leshawnaseville15- 31 cookies… … … … …XxLilyFlowerxX- 6 cookie… … … … …Littleauthorxxx- 17 cookies

maximumridechick- 15 cookies… … … … …Moe6swimmer- 13 cookies… … … … …momo9momo- 16 cookies… … … … …morgiemoooooo- 17 cookies

My-Toxic-Wings- 16 cookies… … … … …NEIWIS- 11 cookies… … … … …NessaMahtar- 18 cookies… … … … …nicklepickle- 11 cookie

NightOwlGirl- 3 cookies… … … … …xXPhoenixWingsXx- 11 cookie… … … … …samantha ann miranda- 13 cookies… … … … …sapphire17choco- 12 cookies

soccergal12- 34 cookies… … … … …Sorrel14- 19 cookies… … … … …TaKeMeToPaRiSs153- 18 cookies… … … … …theatreisforlifee- 2 cookies

theflockroxmysox- 3 cookies… … … … …Truth-Unspoken- 30 cookies… … … … …twinfeathers- 11 cookie… … … … …vivien1515- 16 cookies

Wings of Darkness or Blackness- 16 cookies… … … … …Zachlover16- 16 cookies

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**Cookies Collectors Anonymous **(In Alphabetical Order)**:**

**The Anonymous Reviewer with the Most Cookies:** Ari- 32 cookies

get ur fax on- 11 cookie… … … … …iwashere- 12 cookies… … … … …Jace'n'Fanglover- 26 cookies… … … … …karina- 13 cookies

Mae- 7 cookies… … … … …mozy- 1 cookie… … … … …ninjamonkey- 30 cookies… … … … …raeofdarkness- 12 cookies

Reignbeau- 12 cookie… … … … …Sesshomaru's Best Friend- 1 cookie… … … … …Shadow of the Storm- 16 cookies

shar're from abydos- 2 cookies… … … … …Super Ellie.'D- 4 cookies

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**Prizes**

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Hey there my wonderful readers! Thank you to everyone who's participated in the Cookie Contest. Each review, alert, and favorite means the world to me, and I would like to show my appreciation to all of you.

On my profile, under the **Cookie Contest** heading, there is a link to the Official Cookie Collector's Badge. Everyone listed up above is eligible to link to this picture from their profile. This is just my little way of saying thanks for absolutely everything. (It also gives you eternal bragging rights. Who wouldn't want that?) If you choose to link to this picture, all I ask for in return is that you introduce it with my username and the title of the story that brought you these fabulous cookies. :)

If you want the badge, you have to hurry! The link will only be up for the month of November; I'm pulling it down on December 1st.

Thank you once again for being an _incredible_ set of readers! (:P Couldn't resist the pun.)

And I'm not done with you just yet! Please check out the **Name Contest** below! I'd greatly appreciate it.

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**All my ****Cookie Champions ****(you earned 100 cookies or more) are official winners. Congratulations to my top ten!**

**First place: e-bubble97**

You will get a sneak peek of the first **three** chapters of Indescribable. In the name contest, your votes for the name are each worth **five** points (see below).

In addition, you get to create **two** characters to be added to the story. They can be of either gender, and they may either be a human or a part-human genetic hybrid with only _one_ other species (i.e.: human + bird; human + wolf). I will not accept hybrids that combine two or more other species (i.e.: human + bird + wolf).

Note that I do reserve my right to edit your character to better mold them to the story. Please fill out the mini-profile below and **send it to me in a PM!** I'll get back to you if I need any more information. Thank you!

_Name and/or Nickname:_  
_Gender:_  
_Physical Description (skin/eye/hair color, height, age, odd traits):_  
_Brief Personality Description:_

**Second Place: MyDarkHeart **and **Third Place: OnyxEagle01**

You both will get a sneak peek of the first **two** chapters of Indescribable. In the name contest, your votes are each worth **five** points (see below).

In addition, you get to create **one** character to be added to the story. They can be of either gender, and they may either be a human or a part-human genetic hybrid with only _one_ other species. (i.e.: human + bird; human + wolf) I will not accept hybrids that combine two or more other species. (i.e.: human + bird + wolf)

Note that I do reserve my right to edit your character to better mold them to the story. Please fill out the mini-profile below and **send it to me in a PM!** I'll get back to you if I need any more information. Thank you!

_Name and/or Nickname:_  
_Gender:_  
_Physical Description (skin/eye/hair color, height, age, odd traits):_  
_Brief Personality Description:_

**Fourth Place: InkDrinker **and** Fifth Place: apbarium **and** Sixth Place: Violetfangs**

You will get a sneak peek of the first chapter of Indescribable. In the name contest, your votes are each worth **four** points (see below).

In addition, you get to create **one** character to be added to the story. They can be of either gender, and they must be human.

Note that I do reserve my right to edit your character to better mold them to the story. Please fill out the mini-profile below and **send it to me in a PM!** I'll get back to you if I need any more information. Thank you!

_Name and/or Nickname:_  
_Gender:_  
_Physical Description (skin/eye/hair color, height, age, odd traits):_  
_Brief Personality Description:_

**Seventh Place: MaxRideFreak & something . creative **and **Eighth Place: rosalinda316** and **Ninth Place:** **flyingbopper1999**

You will both get a sneak peek of the first chapter of Indescribable. In the name contest, your votes are each worth **three** points (see below).

In addition, you get to create **one** character to be added to the story. They can be of either gender, and they must be human.

Note that I do reserve my right to edit your character to better mold them to the story. Please fill out the mini-profile below and **send it to me in a PM!** I'll get back to you if I need any more information. Thank you!

_Name and/or Nickname:_  
_Gender:_  
_Physical Description (skin/eye/hair color, height, age, odd traits):_  
_Brief Personality Description:_

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**Name Contest**

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Okay guys, I need your help! Do you remember, way back in Chapter 23, when Wren and Jay were making allusions to a female character? This 'she'—who will play a very large role later on in the trilogy, I promise—needs a name!

Now, I can't make this decision by myself. So I'm making it (mostly) up to you, my readers. I'd like you to pick your _two_ favorite names from the list below, and give them to me in a review. Each vote counts for exactly one point (unless you're a **Cookie Champion **and I've assigned your votes a higher amount). I will tally the votes and use them as input when making my decision on naming this character. **Note: The name with the highest point total may not be the name I choose for this character.**

I spent a couple days making this final list, which consisted of going through 357 pages of names and selecting the ones I liked (I ended up with 169 good ones). Out of those, my beta and I picked our top 30. From that, we narrowed the list down to 11 names that we both think would suit this character quite well.

**Quick Side Note:** If you like a name listed, but prefer an alternate spelling, please tell me so!

And the names are:

**Aubree**= origin: Old German; meaning: "elf or magical being, power"

**Cailynn**= origin: Gaelic; meaning: "girl, lass"

**Lilliana**= origin: Latin; meaning: "flower, innocence, purity, beauty"

**Loree**= origin: Latin; meaning: "bay or laurel plant"

**Margaux **(pronounced Mar-go) = origin: French; meaning: "pearl"

**Nicoletta**= origin: Slavic; meaning: "victorious people"

**Robbyn**= origin: English; meaning: "famous brilliance"

**Skylark**= origin: European; meaning: "small bird"

**Sora**= origin: Native American; meaning: "chirping songbird"

**Wynn**= origin: English; meaning: "friend"

**Zena**= origin: Scottish; meaning: "the defender, helper of mankind"

That's the list! Once again, please pick your top two. :) And I wasn't planning on posting the results, but if you'd like to see, say, the tops three names your votes have chosen, I can post them in early December!

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**I'll be back tomorrow with dedications and some more information on the sequel!**

**Wishing the best,**

**Your faithful author,**

**Lea**


	35. Dedications

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**Dedications**

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Happy Halloween, guys! Even if you don't go around trick-or-treating (I'm actually staying home this year, partly because of a cold and partly because I don't feel like it) or don't celebrate Halloween at all, I hope you have a good day, and a good November!

There are so many people I'd like to thank for all the wonderful support and lovely advice and all-around amazing reviews. In no particular order, my wonderful list of **Cookie Confidants**.

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_***UnbrokenSilences**_

Firstly, this story is dedicated to my infinitely fantastic beta, **UnbrokenSilences**. I've spoken of her often enough, but I'm not sure if you know that, before she was my beta, she was a reviewer, too. She actually _offered_ to beta for me. And I am so, incredibly grateful that she did. She got me through the harder chapters to write, and she picked me up when I wasn't feeling all that great. Before you read any chapter, she went through it and picked it apart and smoothed things over.

Hopefully she won't mind, but this is what she said to me in an email (taken slightly out of context, but it's the thought that counts):

"_But you're like a spider weaving a web, right? And flies (your reviewers, and me!) get 'netted' into your web as you spin. I guess I'm not a fly. I'm your...eh...spider buddy! And I'm small and I sit beside you, occasionally pulling out a strand of spidery thread as you spin or adding one, depending on what's needed, or giving you advice on what to spin next. And as you spin, you're slowly connecting everything together, where-kaching! It all FITS!_"

Beverly, dear, you took the words right out of my mouth.

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_***OnyxEagle01**_

**OnyxEagle01** was there in the beginning, one of the seldom few who took the time to review to every chapter. She was there to boost my confidence when I needed it, and her reviews always left me smiling. I must confess that she's also given me some wonderful ideas for this story. (Yeah, that football game scene in the last chapter? That was totally her idea. I just embellished it into a seriously—if I do say so myself—kickass chapter.) She's truly been an inspiration, and I'm so happy to have her as a reader. I cannot thank you enough, Sam.

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_***e-bubble97**_

Oh, goodness. What can I _not_ say about **e-bubble97**? For starters, she's half of the dynamic duo Cat and Els, the masterminds behind _Jeepers: A Maximum Ride Podcast_. (I can't tell you how amazing it is to hear _my_ name mentioned in a podcast!) Second, she's probably one of the sweetest people I've ever met (along with my beta, OnyxEagle01, and my cousin, and a girl in my art class. I love you guys!). Thirdly, well, she's just spectacular. Ellie belongs to the wonderful collection of readers who've reviewed to every chapter, and boy has she _reviewed_! In the space of three or four days, she typed up the longest reviews I've ever received, for each and every chapter. In them, she told me what she loved about the story and what she didn't, and replied to all of my crazy-obnoxious A/N's. To say the least, I've never gotten reviews that I've loved more. Gosh, Ellie has just been spectacular, and I'm so happy to have her as a reader. I can't thank you enough!

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_***Bookaholic711**_

By now, a lot of us are probably familiar with **Bookaholic711**'s Project: PULL. (I feel so awful for missing the last few. I'm a total failure.) For the chapters she's reviewed to (probably the PULL ones, now that I think about it), her criticisms have been wonderful. She's pointed out my shortcomings, and I have every intention to clean up this story so it's ready for a sequel. Really, her critiques have been invaluable, and I am go glad for the few review's she's given. Thank you.

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_***rosalinda316**_

**Rosalinda316** hasn't reviewed to every chapter, nor were her reviews particularly long. (Though she did hit the 100 cookies mark, which is a feat in and of itself!) But her reviews were thoughtful, and got me to smile. I'd just like to thank you for coming along and being apart of the story. You've really been simply wonderful.

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_***flyingbopper1999**_

**Flyingbopper1999** may just be the first pro-Miggy person who I can actually stand. (I don't mean to offend anyone, if you do support Miggy. It's just that most of the Miggy-lovers I know are quite obnoxious about it. So, I tend to be obnoxious in my dislike for them.) Her reviews have been very entertaining, and I didn't actually know she supported Miggy until half-way through the story or so. I'd just like to thank you, dear, for joining the bandwagon!

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_***Fnick's Witness**_

**Fnick's Witness** was my very first reviewer, and I cannot possibly explain how special she is. She found a naïve, inexperienced little Lea (writing a FanFiction can really change a girl), and she gave me the confidence boost I needed to get those first few chapters up there. Thank you, so, so much.

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*****_**Ari**_

See, it takes a lot to review time and time again, especially when I can't reply to you. So, I'd like to thank **Ari**, for sticking with me through the story and earning the most cookies for an anonymous reviewer. You've been wonderful, Miss Ari. Thank you for everything.

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I can't wait to hear from all of you again in _Indescribable_!

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**Sequel Information!**

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Guys, with November being so intense, I probably won't have any time for PULL. (I'm a failure, I know.) I will be solely focused on the novel I'm going to try to write, and I won't be able to get distracted. I want to finish it, because I really love the story and the characters.

Though I'll be gone, I would still love to get reviews and PM's. It'll give me something to look forward to when NaNoWriMo is all over!

If I'm not on your Author Alerts list, then you're probably worried about when I'll update for the sequel. Worry not, readers! I'll post a short A/N here after I've got the first chapter of Indescribable up!

Now, I've put it off long enough. Here's the summary for _Indescribable_:

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**Part Two: Indescribable**

Rated T for language and violence.

They were together, again, and they didn't have any plans to be separated any time soon. She was back to hearing voices. He started to mimic once again. She found her voice, and she wasn't afraid to use it. In remembering how to see, he gained a voice of his own. She got her Voice back, and wasn't afraid to take charge. His voice kept her steady, and he reminded her to listen to those she looked after.

Those who had torn them apart—the ones who'd scorned them—are in for a brutal surprise. Their experiments are back, and ready to reclaim what is rightfully theirs. But, in the test of faith and endurance, can the rebels weather the storm?

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**That's everything, guys. I don't have much more to say. I can only thank you all for joining me on what has been an utterly **_**incredible**_** ride.  
****(I just couldn't resist. It's just so easy!)**

**I'll see you all again in December, promise.**

**With love,**

**Your faithful author,**

**Lea**

**PS: Please, please, please check out those names in the previous chapter! I really can't make this decision by myself, and I'd **_**love**_** your help! Let's see how many votes we can rack up during November!**

**PPS: Does anyone want me to say, have a weekly chronicle of my NaNoWriMo adventures in the form of a blog? It'd be a way for me to stay connected with you guys, and I can even keep you updated as I go into writing Indescribable!**

**(UPDATE:** I've decided to go and make a blog for NaNoWriMo! The link is on my profile, and I have one post as of tonight. You guys are free to check it out!)


	36. SEQUEL INFORMATION

Okay guys, the sequel is finally up! It's all on my profile, ready for your perusal. I suggest, however, that you re-read this story, just in case. I did go through and edit _everything_ and I'd really appreciate it if you went and read it all first, because I do (hopefully) clear up a few questions.

Also, for your information, you can't get a muffin until you've reviewed this story. (For all my new readers. Just a way to make sure you know what's in store!) I promise I don't bite, though. :D

Hear from you soon?

Your faithful author,

Lea

PS: **HAPPY HOLIDAYS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR!**


	37. MAJOR ANNOUNCEMENT

**So, some of you may know this, but I've decided to start over.**

I've come to a stand-still with the sequel, and in order for me to be able to dig myself out of the whole I've dug, I have to start over completely.

So, I'm starting a new story entitled "A Thousand Ways To Break." The plot will be similar to this, but totally different, and I hope you guys decide to check it out. All I have up now is the prologue, though, and it is rather short. But I hope you like it anyway!

Lots of Love,

Lea


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